Best Of Both Worlds
by Exes and Ohs. 2
Summary: What happens when Harry,who is taken from the Dursley household due to unfortunate events,is thrown into Draco Malfoy's home-life problems?Evil lives in the bowels of Malfoy Manor,destroying all that Lucius had worked to hide,whilst Voldemort plans. DMHP
1. 01

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either. 

*****

_Somewhre in my dreams tonight _

I'll see you standing there 

You look at me with a smile 

"Life isn't always fair" 

~'In My Mind' by author Jenn Farrell 

Staring down at the letter he had just received, Harry Potter crossed the room and sat down at the edge of his bed. The letter was written with girlish, looping writing, and contained mostly the same thing as all of the other letters he'd received. And, once again, it wasn't from the one person he wanted to hear from the most. 

Well, the second person, anyway. 

Harry reread the letter, hearing Uncle Vernon downstairs yelling up for Harry to get moving, they were going to be late. 

_Hey Harry! _

Hope all goes well way over there in Little Whinging. Things are as well as they will be from here. Of course, there are minor mishaps lately, what with Fred and George trying to weasel their way into the Order meetings. The thing is, they're adults, true, but they didn't graduate, and you know, their mum is trying to keep them out of what she says is our business. Nobody really has the strength to argue with her, but we have pointed out continuously that they are adults and they can no longer be protected from this. 

Of course, from the last letter you have written me, I understand you need someone in person to talk to. I recommend your aunt and uncle, Harry, I really do. You can say they don't understand, because nobody ever will. Sure, you can say they don't care, because after how I'd seen them react at the train station last month, I don't blame you for thinking that. They do care, at least a little bit, if they've been keeping you, whether they are scared for themselves or not. I know things must be awful for you, because they are awful for us too. Not quite as much as you, of course, but we miss him too. 

Mrs. Weasley is trying to allow you to stay with her family in a few weeks. Dumbledore isn't giving in, but hey, we'll work on him. In fact, you should write him, pleading, begging, _wanting_ to come see me! You know you want to, Harry. Besides, you won't be staying at Headquarters - we only go to meet there, now, nobody lives in that house, aside from Kreacher - you'll be at the Burrow, as Remus and I occasionally are. Keep your fingers crossed and do everything in your power to get over here with us. Fred and George have moved out, but they're here often enough (mind you, Mrs. Weasley is still not on polite speaking terms with her sons), and they keep asking about when you'll be home. 

And, besides, Remus needs someone too. 

Write back soon, or we'll think those muggles are just awful to you. Or, don't write back, and let us have a reason to bring you home. When you do write back, remember to send it here and not at Headquarters. 

Tonks 

Before Harry could wonder why Tonks had been so open in the letter, moreso than she had in the past, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Ever since he'd gotten home from Hogwarts, the Dursley's were walking on egg shells, afraid to upset Harry, afraid he'd send those '_weirdoes_' into their house. 

The door opened and Aunt Petunia stuck her head in the door. She noticed the barn owl sitting on Hedwig's perch beside her, and the letter in Harry's hands, and her eyes widened slightly. She paled, but her voice was calm. 

"Letter from your friends?" she asked carefully, and Harry had a sickening feeling that someone had told her what had happened. Of course, they were afraid of the witches and wizards (and hadn't liked Tonks much, he felt), but never had they been so careful with that they said around him. They slipped often enough, but Harry didn't care; he wouldn't tattle on his family. 

"What do you need, Aunt Petunia?" Harry folded the note, not looking up at his aunt, and put it in his back pocket. Then, slowly, he raised his head, and his heart wrenched. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from here, from the questioning stares and the unwelcome post he received. 

"Your uncle and I were invited to the dinner party at Fredrick's house. He had invited you, as well, and since Duddy isn't here, we thought -" 

"No thanks, " Harry frowned at her, narrowing his eyes dangerously. How dare this woman? A year ago, they would have done everything in their power to make him _leave_ them, but now they were inviting him to dinners and such? "I don't have proper clothes, anyhow." 

This seemed to occur to Aunt Petunia as well, and she pursed her lips. Harry looked paler, thinner than he had the summer before, but she had barely regarded it is the baggy, dark clothes he wore. But looking at him, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, made her wonder. 

"You haven't, well, said anything about us, have you?" she asked tentavily. Harry shook his head in reply, his eyes unfocussed on her, but rather at the closet beside her. "Uh," she racked her brain, trying to think of something to say to him. Perhaps something comforting, but she had no idea how to go about comforting her nephew. And, anyway, she did this to please his fri - _people_. "Right, then, I'll be leaving you to your notes." she said, and was about to shut the door when she spotted a Potions book lying on the floor, opened to a page about anxiety potions. Then she looked up at Harry again, who was busy staring at the floor, then closed the door behind her. 

Harry stared at the door for a moment longer, feeling anger well up immediately. He hated that woman; despised her. Mind, not as much as he hated Professor Umbridge, that woman was awful (he still had the scars on his hand, pale against his skin), but he no longer had to endure her torment. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, was trying to be comforting and polite as much as she could bear, only because she wanted nothing more than to please the Order. And, of course, Sirius, whom they still believed was alive, despite what the muggle media had said about his death ("_They're..THOSE people..I bet you anything, Petunia, that man is alive and well, and writing Harry as we SPEAK_!" Uncle Vernon had roared one morning). 

The thought of Sirius, rather than clear his mind as it had in the past, only made him more angry. Downstairs, the front door closed, and he could hear his aunt and uncle getting into his newest car. Dudley was at a camp (a _fat_ camp, Harry mused), and almost daily a member of his 'gang' had come to the door, asking if Dudley was home, that their mothers had wanted a spot of tea. This, of course, was complete bull, and was happy to hear Uncle Vernon complain one night at his supper that he was afraid those kids were nothing but trouble. 

Shaking his head clear, Harry moved around the room to his trunk, where he'd began cleaning it out again. His mind was jumbled, but he was trying hard to clear it, because if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to when he fell asleep, therefore subjecting himself to yet another night of nightmares, often repeats of the night Sirius - 

"_No_," he told himself, pulling out the last of the clothes in his trunk. Forcing his mind to think of other things, things he hoped would make him happy (not even the thought of going back to Hogwarts, or the fact of getting to play Quidditch again made him happy anymore. He just didn't care), he began to rummage for a new bottle of blue ink. Pushing aside the ink bottles, quills, spare pieces of parchment and a bottle of clear potion, he reached for the blue colored jar, but something else caught his eye. His hand moved before he could stop it, and it picked up a shard of glass. 

"The mirror," he breathed, feeling his chest tighten. If he'd only opened it when Sirius had given it to him, then he'd still be alive. He could have contacted Sirius through there without risking Umbridge's fireplace, without risking everyone's lives. 

_But you still would have to endure Umbridge, the Ministry would still hate you, nobody would believe you!_ His mind said, trying to make the situation sound better than it was. 

_I don't care_, Harry replied that voice, feeling his throat tighten as tears threatened to suddenly spill. _I would have a thousand Umbridges for all of my classes and the Ministry hate me my entire life, if only Sirius could be here with me._

Picking up the other shards of glass, Harry set them on his desk carefully, making the pieces fit together. In his reflection, his face was filled with cracks and little missing pieces here and there. But he could still see his reflection through the spider web cracks, still see his green eyes that are no longer bright, see that dark circles under his eyes on his pale skin, and the outline of his cheekbones where he should have _something_ full. He racked his brain, trying to remember the last time he slept properly, or had a real meal. He couldn't remember either of the questions, and suddenly felt sick. He missed Sirius so badly, so much it was making him physically sick, not caring in the least what happened to himself. 

Taking a shaky breath, Harry leaned over the cracked mirror and said, with a tight throat, "Sirius Black." 

He didn't know what he would expect from the mirror. Maybe, just as he had a little over a month prior, he was expecting Sirius to be on the surface of the cracked glass, smiling, happy that Harry had contacted him. Of course, that couldn't have happened; Sirius was dead. The thought of never seeing Sirius again was still as painful and hurt just as bad as it had the day he saw his death. The empty feeling he felt when his mind was blank always filled with a sharp pain, tightening his chest and clogging his throat, making him force back tears. 

No face, except Harry's, stared at him from the surface of the mirror. Straightening up, he suddenly wished he hadn't broken the mirror to begin with, because maybe that's why he couldn't get in touch with his godfather? A thought occurred to him, and he began to dig around in his desk for paste, glue, or spell-o-tape, _something_ to repair the broken glass. Pulling the glue bottle out of the back of the top drawer, Harry unscrewed the cap and, piece by piece, began to glue the mirror back together. 

_Seven years of bad luck_, he told himself, creasing his brow as he worked carefully at making the mirror as perfect as he could. Of course, there would still be the spider web cracks running through it, but at least it'd still be in one piece, rather than ten. _Then again, _he mused, _maybe it'll backfire since I've had so much bad luck as it is, and I'll have good luck._

Allowing time for the glue to dry, Harry tried to remember what he had been doing before, consciously trying to keep busy so as not to think about other things. Things that had been bothering him, much like the thoughts of Sirius had. Making his way back to his open trunk beside his bed, he picked up the nearest ink bottle, quill, and piece of parchment, ignoring the sudden flapping from Hedwig's cage. Pig was nipping at Hedwig, perhaps lovingly, but Hedwig had no love for the runt of an owl. Emotion tightened in Harry's chest; Sirius had given Pig to Ron. 

Harry sat down at his desk, flattened out the piece of parchment and opened the bottle of ink. Dipping his quill into his ink bottle, he began to slowly write. 

_Dear Tonks, _

Thanks for writing me back so quickly. But every three days writing you to tell you I'm okay is rather tedious. Don't get me wrong, I do like getting post, but it's just that lately, after my interview for The Quibbler_ has been in several other newspapers, I get a bit of post from the readers as well. No, I don't reply to those, and yes, I burn them when I receive them, just as you instructed me to do in your first letter. The Dursley's don't question what I am doing; in fact, sometimes they even help me, without a question as to who the letters are from. _

Things are well from t here. Harry paused, tapping his chin, trying to think of what to say next. _Dudley hasn't come back from fat camp yet, and I'll be shocked to see if he'd lost any weight at all. _

I know things for the Order are busy and you all have tons of things to do, preparing and whatnot. It's surprising that you have time to write me so often. If you'd like Harry paused at this, racking his brain. Recently, perhaps since he'd gotten home from Hogwarts, he hadn't wanted life anymore, he hadn't want to be around, as he'd told Dumbledore. But to put it into words was harder than just thinking about it. Sighing, he continued to write, dipping his quill in the ink bottle. _to write me perhaps once every two weeks, that would be fine. _

Tonks, I don't know what to do. Harry stared at what he had written, then scratched it out. 

_Tonks, I know you and Lupin and Moody have all done so much to keep writing me every three or four days, and believe me, I feel like someone cares. And, of course, Hermione, Ron, the twins, even Ginny and Neville. I just want you and everyone to know how much it means to me. I know you are all doing the best you can to get me to come over for the remainder of the summer, but I don't think I need that. I don't like being alone; but I don't like being around people who have no idea what I'm feeling. _ Harry paused, thinking about what Tonks had said about Lupin needing someone, too. His chest tightened at the thought of someone being, if possible, in more pain than he himself was. Lupin had grown up with Sirius, and to have him gone..Harry couldn't begin to imagine. _I understand Lupin must hurt so much more than I do, but there's nothing I can do. I think I need him, he's the only one who feels probably as horrible as I do. He's lost every one of his old friends. I just don't think it'd be good for either of us to be in each other's company at the moment. _

I'll remain in touch, and if I don't write back for a few days, don't worry. Things are getting busy around here, and when Dudley comes home, Uncle Vernon might take us on vacation. I'm not sure, but they'll probably celebrate Dudley's success (if he successes at all) by indulging him for weeks to come. 

Harry 

Re-reading over the letter, Harry had an urge to tear the parchment apart and start over. But, he sounded okay in the letter, even if he himself was feeling awful. Closing his eyes, Harry folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, addressed it to Tonks, and tied it to Pig's leg. 

"Take it back to Tonks, Pig, " Harry said, and when Pig flew off through the open window, he turned to Hedwig, "don't fancy him much, do you, Hedwig?" she nipped at his fingers in reply, and Harry sighed, petting his owl lovingly. 

A shiver ran down his spine, and Harry breathed out slowly, keeping his emotion down. He hated this feeling of utter emptiness he'd been feeling the past month; he wanted nothing more than for it to be gone. The only way for it to be gone, Harry had come to realize, was if he was dead himself. The dead don't feel empty and lonely, do they? Harry doubted it very much. 

In a letter Dumbledore had sent a few days after Harry's return to Privet Drive, he had explained that, while Sirius may be in heaven with James and Lily, or wherever you went after death, he was still there. Harry had heard much of the same thing everywhere; on Aunt Petunia's television shows, in the newspapers, and in Hermione's letters. He himself didn't believe it, though he desperately wanted to. How could you believe in someone being there without seeing or feeling them? If Sirius could be with Harry's parents, why would he be there with Harry himself? That was answered in Dumbledore's letter, as well; simply because Sirius loved Harry more than he was able to love or care for himself. Sirius had put his life in front of Harry's so that Harry could live. 

"_Maybe Sirius is living through you_" Hermione had said only a few months ago. And Harry remembered that feeling of distrust and hurt, whether it was toward Sirius or Hermione, he didn't know. So what if Sirius had been living through Harry? At least he had been living! 

Harry picked up the cracked mirror gently, afraid the pieces would fall off. He stared into the mirror, avoiding his own gaze, and whispered, "Sirius Black". And, once again, nothing had happened. No face other than his own stared at him, and he had an urge to break apart the mirror again. But he couldn't; this was the only gift Sirius had given Harry that he still had. The knife had melted away when it touched that door at the Department of Mysteries, and he had nothing to remind him of Sirius. Aside from the constant pain, of course. 

"I miss you so much," Harry said into the mirror, emotion tightening in his throat, but for once, no tears came. The thoughts of death and suicide, depression and hatred still loomed in his head, but not the tears. He was too tired for tears. Too cried out for tears. "Why did you go, Sirius? _Where_ did you go?" 

All that remained staring at him was the reflection in the mirror. He could hear, outside in the dark streets of Privet Drive, the gang of Dudley's arguing about something. A car drove by, it's headlights illuminating the dark streets. He did miss Sirius; terribly, so much that the aching pain never receded, not in his sleep, because he had nightmares and woke up screaming and crying. More than once this summer he had been in so much physical and mental pain, with his scar burning to the point of blindness, he'd thrown up over Aunt Petunia's wooden floor, grasping at his aunt, wanting nothing more than a solid figure to hold onto while the hurting passed. Never once had Aunt Petunia asked him to explain his nightmares, his pain, his reasons for this sudden change. She made Harry clean up his messed, but had made him cups of tea, given him medicines to calm his stomach. This had only happened four times, and every time Harry could hear Uncle Vernon yelling at his wife, telling her she was being too soft, too.._caring_. 

Which made Harry hate his aunt more. She had never once in the fifteen (_nearly sixteen, was it?_ Harry thought dully) years shown him any kind of emotion other than hatred. She made Harry stay with them last summer; that much was true. But only out of the fear of Dumbledore. Once again, however, she was fearing a wizard, therefore being kind to her nephew. The thought _had_ occurred to him, of course, that _maybe_ Aunt Petunia cared. The thought was pushed out of his mind. He doubted very much she would miss him if he died. Maybe she'd care if he left a mess behind for her to clean, but she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't hurt like he hurts now, she wouldn't mope about, wanting nothing more than death to consume her. 

Death wasn't an option for Harry. While he wanted it more than anything, and if it meant hurting his closest friends in the process, he'd do it. They would never understand his hurt, and he wanted them to. Selfish, he knew, but he didn't mind one bit. he wanted his friends to hurt as badly as he did, so they knew how hard it was to keep living through this hell of self-hatred, of anger and frustration toward everyone and everything. 

It wasn't an option, however. He had things to do still; he had to kill that bitch Lestrange, that was the first priority. Screw the Cruciatus Curse, he wanted to see her blood on his hands. He wanted to feel the life leave her, and see the shock of knowing what was happening to her, as it had with Sirius. 

Voldemort was the second priority. 

Then maybe, Harry figured as he closed his window, blocking out the bickering of the gang out front, he could die peacefully. That probably wouldn't be able to happen, he decided, since Dumbledore was still around and he knew everything. Bloody hell, that would be a shocker for the elderly man, to find Harry Potter had slipped from his grasp unknowingly. The man had other problems to deal with at the moment, as did everyone. Post was monitored often enough, usually intercepted by the Post Office in Hogsmeade and other places around the world. Which is why it surprised Harry that Tonks had written so openly in her letter. He knew that the Order was being placed around the country, and at the moment, Mad-Eye was keeping watch over Privet Drive (staying at Mrs. Figgs house at night, perhaps taking his magical eye and placing it on the sidewalk beside his house? That was an awful thought, though). Dumbledore, he figured, was at Hogwarts, as he was a few days ago, making the wards on the school stronger, with the help of the most trained Aurors. Tonks _had_ been there, but considering that she had used Pig, Harry knew she had gone back to the Burrow. 

A tapping sound brought Harry from his thoughts, and he re-crossed his bedroom (somehow, in his deep thinking, he'd made his way to the corner of the room and was leaning against it), letting the owl into the room. He had lied to Tonks about the fan-mail he'd received; he only got one letter, but if she thought he was getting tons of post and all of that, maybe she would figure he was okay. Nobody was _that_ thick, though; they all knew how bad he was, but there was nothing he could do. 

A new brown owl flew into Harry's bedroom, carrying a thin envelope. Harry closed his window, took the owl to Hedwig's cage (she hooted in indignation), and removed the letter. He opened it carefully, making sure to hold it out in front of him at arm's length, in case it was full of Dark Magic (Moody had told him to do this). The perfect, beautiful handwriting of Albus Dumbledore met Harry's eyes. There was one line, one sentence, that made Harry's stomach tighten. 

_Don't do anything unnecessary._

This could mean any number of things, but Harry knew what he was talking about. Since Harry couldn't run away and leave his aunt's care, the only other thing it could've meant in his situation was suicide. Shaking his head, as if to clear the thoughts away, Harry began to fold it up when more writing appeared at the bottom. Squinting, Harry read it. 

_The wards are almost up at school, and you will be returning in the weeks to come. Your friends will meet you here, as will the Order. This will be our headquarters, since more and more people are being admitted daily, and our current housing will not be sufficient enough. You can manage another few weeks, I hope. We will be in touch soon. _

Albus Dumbledore 

The letter, as all of Dumbledore's letters, slowly curled up, turning black, and disappeared into thin air. Harry stared at where it once was in his hand, anger suddenly flaring. He turned around quickly, then slammed his clenched fist into the closest thing to him - the mirror on his dressed. The mirror shattered, and Harry glared at it, unaware of the sudden burning in his hand, pieces of glass cutting open his knuckles. 

He needed to scream; the anger and frustration pent up inside his body was beyond it's capacity. But it began to diminish as the pain in his hand erupted, his eyes finding the cuts on his hand oddly comforting as blood slid down his fingers. It's not that he needed more scars - no, the scar on top of his hand where Umbridge made him carve the words was still there, still a constant reminder of his fifth year. The scar on his forehead would never disappear, _that_ being another constant reminder of Voldemort and his return to power. But the pain in his hand, and seeing himself bleed was something else. Forget the scars; they were unimportant and he'd deal with those later. What he needed what physical pain to rule over the emotional crap, to make him forget who and where he was, why he was here, and overall, why he was here without a true family. 

Opening his palm, Harry reached for a shard of glass, and without even thinking (or without thinking _enough_), dug the point of the glass into his open hand, tearing the skin in frustration, wanting nothing more than rid himself of emotional pain. The skin on his hand opened, and blood began to well in the cut, and a sense of relief flooded over Harry. He had done the one thing he never wanted to do, and instead of feeling guilt, he felt .. nothing. Nothing was better than the guilt of Sirius' death, the painful memories that haunted him day and night. Everything except the feeling of pain throbbing in his left hand, where he cut from below his middle finger, to the heel of his hand, and the blood drying on his right knuckles, feeling them bruise under the swelling. Screw Dumbledore; this had been necessary, surely the old man could figure it out. 

Staring down at what he had done to himself, he felt a slight smile find it's way onto his face. Not a happy smile, but a smile all the same. And as he made his way down the hall toward the washroom, he kept his left hand open in front of him, watching the blood clot to keep the wound from bleeding anymore than it had. He clenched the hand, feeling the new cut burst with more pain, and smiled a little more. So what if he had a scar? He had found a new liking. 

*****

The broom swayed in the wind, rain pelting down angrily upon the world. The occupant on the broom sat motionless, allowing the rain to beat on him, soaking him through his clothes. So what if he'd catch a cold? Did it honestly matter? Catching death was more appealing, though. Colds turned into death, but then again, he was a werewolf. The werewolf's body had a tendency to keep sickness, other than lycanthrope, of course, out of their body. It was rare for him to get ill with another sickness other than changing form. Silver bullets would do, but the muggle technique of suicide was so bloody.._boring_. So many werewolves used that method as it was; what was one other to add to the ever-growing list of self-caused deaths in his community? 

Severus had given the broom to him, saying it was down in the dungeons, that it was Harry's and had been forgotten until just a few weeks ago. The Firebolt was an excellent broom, probably still one of the best after two years of being on the market. And yet, a sense of dread filled him every time he looked down at the beautifully mastered broom. Sirius had sent it to Harry after the Nimbus broke in his third year. He himself remembered seeing Harry flying on the broom, flying a thousand times better, more gracefully, than he had with the Nimbus. He also remembered knowing who had sent the broom without even having to ask. Sirius had, because Remus Lupin had seen Sirius constantly that year. 

Just as Remus Lupin saw Sirius constantly now. 

"Remus?" a tentative voice asked from somewhere below him. The rain was beating down on the ground, lightening and thunder emitting noise and light in the dark night. 

Looking down, Remus saw Fred on his broom, making his way up to where Remus was floating, some hundred feet above the Burrow. Fred, who was taking a short break from his joke shop, staying at home, working on Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore, trying to get them to lighten up and let he and his brother into the Order, came to a stop in front of Remus, staring at him. The red head was apprehensive, his hair glued down to his head. He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. 

"You'll catch a cold," he said, trying to be helpful. Remus just shook his head, forcing a small smile. 

"Werewolves _can't_ catch a cold, but thanks for your concern. You should go, though; you'll catch a cold yourself," Remus said, turning the Firebolt slowly, the wind pushing him around carelessly. Fred followed. 

"Even if you can't get sick, you should still come it. Mum's worried about you, and to tell you the truth," Fred paused, studying Remus as he stared down at the ground down below. He felt suddenly sick, like he knew what Remus was thinking. He finished quickly: "I'm worried too. Remus, don't do it." 

"It doesn't matter, Fred. Go inside, please." 

"No! You of all people should know I don't take orders from much of anyone. You need to get inside, because Dumbledore's on his way back, and he said," Fred paused. He didn't know whether he should be saying much of anything to Remus, who was already in a bad enough state, as he could clearly see. Remus was now staring at him, curious above all else, moving back to be in front of Fred. 

"He said what, Fred?" he asked, his voice low, perhaps dangerous; the Full Moon was soon. Fred had forgotten. 

"Nevermind. I'll leave you alone," Fred turned, about to go down, when Remus grabbed the neck of his robes and pulled him back, almost taking him off his broom completely. A streak of panic went throughout Fred, confused by the aggressiveness. 

"Is it Harry?" was the first question out of his mouth; screw everyone else. Dumbledore wouldn't be on his way back from Hogwarts if it wasn't. 

"He thinks it is, but it's really okay. You can stay out here, it's fine, it's fine," he said, pulling his robes carefully from Remus' grasp then shot down to the ground, leaving Remus floating in the rain, on top of Harry's Firebolt that Sirius had given him. 

A few minutes later, Remus was standing inside the kitchen of the Burrow, having Mrs. Weasley fuss over the state of his drenched robes. She kept muttering things under her breath, about how boys and their broomsticks (though Remus _knew_ it wasn't meant to be taken _that way_, he smiled a bit anyway) always caused some sort of damage. In this case, rain and mud had covered Remus' robes, as well as his shoes and now, Mrs. Weasley's kitchen floor. He had a feeling, though, that she didn't even notice the state of the newly washed floor; if she did, she would have possibly fussed more, but not been any angry. 

"Thank you, Molly," Remus said, taking her hands off of his wet shoulder, kissing her knuckles affectionately. "I don't need assistance. Albus is on his way, then?" Molly, who had blushed for a moment when his lips touched her knuckles, nodded quickly. "Is it bad?" 

"I'm not sure. He said he was going to finish with the wards and be here by supper. He said he sent Harry a letter, but he doesn't think the message in it was heeded." She shook her head, muttering under her breath again about boys. A pang of fear and guilt made Remus step forward, his shoes squeaking with water. 

"Harry's done something? What did the letter say?" Remus understood the love Sirius had had for Harry; he felt it too. He knew how much he loved Harry, too, but he'd never understand the feeling of that love. He would never know Harry as Sirius had, or look at the boy as a son as Sirius had, because for Remus, it was much too hard. But now it was much harder, knowing that, once again, Harry had been let down, losing another person he loved as family. The thought of Harry ignoring a message from Dumbledore upset Remus, though, because he knew he felt something of paternal love for this boy; he didn't want him upset. 

"We don't know, Remus. Go shower and get changed, please. We might have to go after Harry tonight, I'm afraid," Mrs. Weasley frowned, shaking her head as she began putting food in to cook. "We'll have a late dinner due to Albus arriving later; we'd eat outside, but the rain is awful. Fred went to get George and Bill down at their shop," she winced at that, "and we're going to put drying spells around the area to make more room for everyone who will be here. Hermione's upstairs with Ron and Ginny, so if you could kindly tell them to prepare for supper?" 

Remus nodded, took off his shoes and robe (leaving his sweat pants and shirt on underneath), and carried them up the winding stairs. He dropped off his wet clothes and shoes at his room and continued upstairs to Ron's room, where he knocked softly. A muffled "Come in!" let Remus know that indeed, the three were in the room. Pushing the door open, he stuck his head in, faking a smile for them. Hermione smiled back at him, and Ron waved. Ginny was looking through a magazine and didn't even look up. 

"Supper will be ready soon. Your mum said to prepare, so wash up and all that," Remus said and when the three nodded and began to move, he closed the door and hastily returned to his room. 

A shower sounded wonderful. 

*****

The next morning, Harry stared at the pieces of glass that littered his bedroom floor. Uncle Vernon hadn't liked it, to say the least. Had a few choice words and slammed his bedroom door shut. Aunt Petunia just clicked her tongue, narrowing her eyes at Harry, and went to bed a few minutes after her husband. Harry still hadn't cleaned the mess; but that didn't matter. The burning pain in his hands kept his mind on what he had decided the night before. He was going to tell his aunt and uncle everything. Tonks was right; they must care in someway, and they couldn't kick him out. Besides, they were terrified of the Order, they wouldn't do anything wrong. 

Downstairs, he could hear the clatter of his aunt and uncle's silverware and dishes as they prepared for breakfast. Aunt Petunia yelled up the stairs, telling Harry to get down there to help her. Taking a deep breath, Harry opened his door and made his way downstairs. The kitchen smelled of bacon and sausage; their Saturday morning breakfast. Uncle Vernon was glaring into his open newspaper, and didn't even look up when Harry sat down across from him. 

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked quietly, clearing his throat. Vernon dropped his newspaper, staring at Harry with angry eyes. "I'm sorry about the mirror, I was just -" 

"I don't want to hear it, boy. You will pay for those damages!" Uncle Vernon hissed back, and Aunt Petunia, having finished with breakfast and was now placing the plates on the table, hit her husband gently on the shoulder, warning him with her eyes. 

"I'm sure Harry had good reason." Aunt Petunia replied, handing her husband a fork to eat his breakfast. She gave Harry a tight frown, narrowing her eyes slightly. Harry knew she was defending him for the sole purpose of not pissing off the Order, and that kind of bothered him. 

His uncle returned to glaring at Harry, his newspaper clenched in his fists. Aunt Petunia sat down on the right side of Harry, handing him a fork to eat his breakfast. He ignored the cutlery, wringing his hands in his lap. 

"It's not a good reason at all, Aunt Petunia. I -" Harry tried to think of how he'd tell them. Maybe he could just go upstairs and forget this all happened. But, no, he had to. Comfort was what he desperately needed, and now he was going to try for his aunt and uncle. "I want to tell you about my school, and my life at school," he began, and when Uncle Vernon's face turned from a hot pink to a furious purple, Harry bit down on his bottom lip. "Uncle Vernon, I need to. You have to listen, or..or I'll contact those people." His uncle kept his mouth shut, but remained shaking in anger. "I..don't know how to start. Uh, well, in my first year, a professor of mine had been a host body for the man who killed my parents -" 

"A _HOST BODY_!?" Uncle Vernon roared in disbelief. "What is this rubbish?!" 

"I can't explain it. But the professor tried attacking me, and..and I killed him," Harry said, realizing himself that yes, he had indeed killed the man. "and the..the..thing that killed my parents, he escaped again," Uncle Vernon was now standing, his entire face a dark purple, as if he couldn't get air in. "Then in my second year, my friend was trapped in a secret chamber, and I went down there, and I killed a memory of Voldemort. I never told you because you don't care, but I have to tell you and you have to listen." Harry glared at his uncle, who was ready to pounce on Harry and beat him senseless. "In my third year, I had a professor- Remus Lupin- who was best friends with my dad in school. That's when Sirius," Harry's throat tightened at the memory, but he swallow the lump and continued, "when Sirius Black was on the run. Sirius was my dad's best friend as well, and Lupin, he knew Sirius was out to get me. But he wasn't out to kill me, rather to protect me because he's my godfather. 

"Then in my fourth year, Voldemort rose again, and this time he had a body and he was strong. He killed Cedric when he had us taken to him in a cemetery, and I just barely got away. But my mum and dad talked to me, and," Harry knew he was doing the wrong thing; Uncle Vernon was furious, but he had to get it out and tell them. "And then this past year, after I left your house, I went to stay with Sirius, and so many things happened during the year. I was getting horrible nightmares and dreams, and I was really worried about Sirius being alone in his house. Then I had a vision - well, I thought it was - of Sirius being tortured, so I went after him. And I got him killed," Harry bowed his head as tears welled up in his eyes. There was silence from his aunt and uncle, but before he could look up, the table was suddenly shoved into Harry's chest, knocking the wind out of him. 

Harry knew it had been a bad idea from the start. Why had he decided to follow Tonks suggestion? He knew how badly, desperately he needed to be comforted, and when Aunt Petunia had been polite to him, he figured he could trust them. Just by looking at Uncle Vernon, however, he knew this wasn't the truth. He had done something terribly wrong, and his uncle was beyond angry. 

"WHAT ARE THESE LIES? HOW DARE YOU, POTTER! WE HAVE TAKEN YOU IN WHEN WE SHOULD HAVE TOLD THE POLICE I HAD BEEN THREATENED!" Uncle Vernon roared, and Aunt Petunia backed away, muttering about how they shouldn't upset Harry. "I AM FED UP WITH YOUR RUBBISH! YOU ARE LEAVING MY HOUSE, AND I DON'T CARE WHAT THAT CRACKPOT SAYS ABOUT YOU STAYING HERE!" 

"HE'S NOT A CRACKPOT!" Harry screamed back, anger flaring in his veins, clenching his fists. He was standing against the wall, his back pressed firmly against it. When he opened his mouth to say something else, Uncle Vernon back-handed Harry across the mouth. Blood started to fall from Harry's mouth and nose, but he remained rooted, glaring at his uncle. "I hate you, you stupid bastard. Go ahead, hit me, I don't give a crap. I've already lost my godfather, and my parents. I'm in enough pain as it is, what's one more injury?" 

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by his shoulders and shoved him against the wall so hard his back cracked and his head thumped against the wall. "You hear me now, boy. Your bullshit isn't going to work with me. You may have your little world convinced your some hero, but you aren't, and in this house, you are nothing but a worthless shit. Your little friends threatened me -" 

"They are some of the most powerful wizards of our time," Harry spat blood on Uncle Vernon's t-shirt, glaring up at his uncle, whose eyes were wide. 

"How-bloody-dare-you," Uncle Vernon ground out with clenched teeth. He pulled Harry back by the shoulders and shoved him into the wall again, the wall cracking behind Harry. Harry's head hit the wall again, and felt something warm on the back of his head. But before he could reach up and try to stop what was happening, Uncle Vernon hit Harry against the temple with his fist, and Harry's head fell forward as he blacked out. 

*****

Remus dropped his playing cards, glancing at his pocket watch. "It's seven in the morning, Albus. We stayed up all night. What are you doing here?" 

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone to bed hours ago; Fred and George were sleeping on the couch, muttering in their sleep about their shop, as if conversing to each other; Ginny, Ron and Hermione were on the floor, Hermione curled up into a ball, whimpering quietly, as if she were having a nightmare; Bill had gone upstairs a few minutes before, after winning his last hand in their game. Tonks was at Headquarters, saying she had packing to do if they were moving over to Hogwarts. 

"I am on a mission to play muggle poker games," Dumbledore replied, shuffling the playing cards and dropping five in front of Remus. "What are you doing here?" 

"I came here with Tonks, you know this. Why did you arrive so late last night? You said something about Harry?" Remus asked, picking up his cards and glancing at them with tired eyes. 

"Ah, well, I suppose now that everyone is asleep, there's no reason to bring it up," Dumbledore smiled, exchanging two cards for two new ones, then put a few red chips into the small pot. 

"Albus, please. You know how much Harry means to me now. Tell me," Remus said, tossing his cards into the pot, leaning forward, his anger beginning to flare slightly. "What happened to him? Is he alright? What's going on?" 

Dumbledore sighed and put his cards ontop of Remus'. He leaned forward as well, and dropped his voice. "I sent Harry an owl, because, as you know, I can feel his emotions. And I felt his emotions strong last night, considering the distance between where I was at Hogwarts to where he is in Little Whinging. The owl said don't do anything unnecessary. I'm afraid he might have. Oh, no no, he is alive," Dumbledore said at the sudden worried look on Remus' face. "But I'm not sure whether or not he heeded the warning I gave him. I came over last night to be closer to him, to feel his emotions better, but he is currently calmed down and," Dumbledore searched for the word, "content." 

"Should we go check on him in case?" Remus asked, ready to jump up and grab his coat in a second. Dumbledore shook his head, smiling slightly. 

"You are in no mind to go and see Harry at the moment. He wrote to Tonks last night, so I believe he is fine. You need to go rest up, though. I believe we'll have to go back to Hogwarts tonight and get adjusted." 

Before Remus could answer, the fireplace turned green at the same moment a shrieking sound erupted from the room. Snape rushed into the living room, carrying a dark piece of glass on a piece of velvet, holding it out at arms length. Fred and George jumped awake, both falling on the floor, ontop of their brother and sister, who was frantically trying to get up to see what had happened. Hermione was already up and staring at the thing making the shrieking sound. Within moments, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley was downstairs, Bill at their heels. Everyone crowded around Hermione, staring at the clock on the wall, which held every Weasley's face on it. Percy's hand was pointed to 'mortal peril'. 

"Headmaster," Snape said, breathing heavily, holding the piece of glass at Dumbledore. "I believe there's a simultaneous attack. This began burning a few moments ago." 

Dumbledore took the piece of velvet, and looked up at Remus. "Go up to sleep. Bill, you go up as well, since I kept you up at night. Everything is fine; you need to stay here to watch the kids. Molly, Arthur, Fred and George, get changed quickly." 

Everyone except Remus ran upstairs, leaving him alone with Dumbledore. "What is it, Albus?" 

"Voldemort is near Hogwarts, I'm afraid. The wards are up and secure, so he can't get through immediately, but that's not to say he will stay out forever. McGonagall is keeping guard at the school, but we need to go there. I want you to take a sleeping draft, Remus, and sleep, you aren't needed right now. The full moon is soon and you need to be as rested as possible, because we have a mission for you that night. Go, and I'll come back when everything is clear. Don't leave, no matter what happens. Keep a close eye on the three kids; keep them inside at all times," Dumbledore folded the velvet over the glass, then put it in his pocket. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were downstairs a moment later, followed by Fred and George. They were anxious to be part of the Order, that much was obvious, but they held a distracted look, afraid for their brother. 

"No, Albus -" 

"Remus, go, now. Severus, if you could bring a sleeping draft for Remus?" Dumbledore asked kindly, and Snape nodded, his eyes lingering on the sick-looking figure of Remus. 

"Of course, sir. Which room are you in, Lupin?" Snape asked, his voice empty. He felt sympathy, sure, but to show that would betray everything Snape had been hiding for years now. He never showed emotion and he was good at not-caring. At least pretending not to care. 

"The floor after this, the door on the right," Remus replied, but his eyes were locked on Dumbledore, who smiled gently and took his hand in his. 

"Everything is okay. Take the draft, and we will be back soon. We'll have to get used to this, because Voldemort won't rest until he can find a flaw in our wards." 

This, of course, did nothing to comfort anyone in the room, but that was what Dumbledore did. He spoke the truth whether it was bad or not. They had to know, if they were going to stay at the school for the rest of the summer. 

Within moments, the adults were hurrying toward the fireplace, flooing to the school. Remus frowned at the empty room, then made his way up the stairs. He was alone, and now he was concerned about Harry. Maybe he should write to him, just to make sure he's okay. He really was tired, and concerned about Harry, and besides, Dumbledore never said Remus couldn't write to Harry. 

In his makeshift bedroom, Remus pulled out a clean piece of parchment and sat down to write his letter to Harry, but came up short because he had no idea what he was going to write. 'You better mind Dumbledore and be a good boy?'. That would be hypocritical, because Remus wanted so badly do everything Harry wanted to do. 

"Lupin," Snape said from the doorway, and Remus spun around, facing the Potions Master, partly scared by the sudden arrival of the man. "your draft?" 

"Thanks." Remus grabbed the bottle and set it down on his desk. He didn't turn back around, keeping his back at Snape. They hadn't been alone since before Sirius' death, and while Snape disliked Lupin greatly, and the feeling was mutual, they were polite at times. When the news of James and Lily's death has been released, Snape had been nice, as far as nice goes for the man. 

"My sympathies, Lupin," Snape cleared his throat. "I myself will never know the feeling of losing a loved one, for I have had no loved ones in my life. But I feel," Snape waved his hand in the air, trying to find words. "I feel guilt about the death of your friend, something I am most definitely not accustomed to." 

Remus nodded. "You rubbed in the fact that Sirius couldn't do anything for the Order, and now he's dead. I suppose you feel he had it coming, right?" Remus laughed bitterly, his tired mind taking offense to Snape's comment. "Harry has no family now. That's what I'm so upset about. He has no family, and," Remus lowered his voice as he collapsed in the chair behind his desk, "and neither do I." 

Snape didn't say anything. Instead, he turned and stalked out of the room, but Remus just didn't care. He didn't want to think about Sirius, or Harry, or anyone right now. Unscrewing the cap on the flask, Remus drank the sleeping draft, replaced the lid, and dropped ontop of his bed, falling asleep immediately, without bothering to change into more comfortable robes. 

*****

Harry was running down the steps to the dais, running for Sirius, when Lupin grabbed him around the shoulders. "He's gone, Harry," 

"HE'S NOT DEAD!" Harry screamed, then bolted upright in his bed, screaming more. 

Sudden pain washed over him, from the realization that Sirius was really dead, and also from the pounding in his scar, head and back. He rolled over on the bed, clutching the bedside table, and began vomiting onto the floor. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the bright light from the open window, which stung his eyes made him see more stars. He could hear someone in the bedroom, bustling around, but they made no move to comfort him. Bile rose in his throat when he was done retching, and he rolled onto his back, pulling the blanket and sheets over his face, blocking out the bright light. 

"You mustn't tell on your uncle," he heard Aunt Petunia say as she closed the blinds and curtains of the window, plunging the room into darkness. "His temper has been awful lately, he has been losing clients the past few weeks." 

"I want Sirius," Harry found himself whimpering, and curled his legs to his chest, pressing his forehead against his knees. He closed his eyes tightly, keeping the tears from finding their way onto his face. The bed sunk under Aunt Petunia's weight, but she made no other move toward him. 

"Dudley is coming back later this afternoon." 

"What happened?" Harry pulled the blanket down, reaching out for his glasses. He felt his aunt's hand grab his left wrist, and pull his hand toward her face. 

"What's this? Did you get cut by the mirror?" she asked curiously, and Harry suddenly remembered everything. Punching the mirror, cutting his hand with the shard of glass, telling his uncle about his life at school, and getting hit. Bile rose in his throat, and when he rolled over again, his head spun, and he began retching again. "You need a doctor," he heard his aunt say quietly, then stand up and leave the room. 

Harry collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blankets around his shivering body, and fell back into an empty sleep, and for once, it wasn't full of Sirius's death. 

*****

The burning in Dumbledore's pocket from the hot piece of glass was consistent with the uneasy thoughts in his mind. He was staring out at the grounds of the Forbidden Forest, where he was almost positive Voldemort was trying to lure the creatures onto his side. Of course, Dumbledore had already spoken to the centaurs, probably the only threat to the school, and had been given promises to keep the centaurs neutral in the upcoming war. What Dumbledore was afraid of, however, was the other animals; the giant half-brother of Hagrid's wouldn't understand what was going on. Any animal, human, or other creatures on Voldemort's side, fortunately, couldn't pass the wards that lined the Forbidden Forest. 

What was making him uneasy was not how close Voldemort was to both Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, but how easily the Dark Lord could possibly penetrate the wards. Not on the first go, of course not, but with the right spells taught to his followers, they could override the wards and tear them down without warning. This thought, along with his concerns over Harry and Remus, was why he was considering making Tonks go and retrieve both of them. 

For five years now, Dumbledore remained concerned, above all else, for the well-being of Harry Potter. He knew nothing of physical violence in the Dursley household, but even if he did, he feared there would be nothing that could be done. Taking Harry away would only increase the situation's seriousness more; of course, then legal action could be taken to punish the Dursleys. No, Dumbledore thought with a sigh, Harry still needed his aunt by his side throughout this ordeal, even if he was hurt in the process. It was hard to think, but it had to be done. 

Physical abuse and molestation was something often common in the Slytherin House. He knew Draco Malfoy had endured years of abuse from his father, and that had only recently stopped being Lucius was now in Azkaban. Not for long, but perhaps enough time to get Narcissa and her son to realize the danger they were in. Emotional abuse was something a few Ravenclaw students had dealt with over the years. Abuse in general wasn't confined to one House, Dumbledore mused, but different kinds were common in different Houses. Mental abuse in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, which made them work hard at their grades and the such to make good with their parents and guardians. Physical abuse in Slytherin was more common that other Houses, due to the parents being part of the Dark Arts, Voldemort, and evil. Mind, not only Slytherin's dealt with that; Dumbledore remembered a Gryffindor years upon years ago whose parents were encouraging their son, Regulus, to become a Death Eater. 

Dumbledore sighed. Sirius Black had been a magnificent student. The only Gryffindor in his family, if Dumbledore recalled correctly. His brother, Regulus, had been in Slytherin, and died at the age of only fifteen due to Voldemort. Sirius ran away at sixteen, away from his abusive life, but found his way into Azkaban years later. Violent as Sirius could be, he was still perhaps one of the most intelligent children he'd ever taught. The Marauder's Map, which had been in Filch's possession a few years prior, was brilliantly drawn up, courtesy of James, Remus, Sirius and Peter. 

"Albus, we have word that there are attacks in a town close to Little Whinging," Minerva McGonagall said, coming to stand beside the elderly Headmaster, who was still standing in the fourth floor corridor, staring out at the Forest. "Should we put together a group to bring Potter back?" 

"That is unnecessary, I believe," Dumbledore frowned more, his forehead creasing in thought. "Is there any word on Percy Weasley?" 

"None yet, sir. Minister Fudge has repeatedly told Moody that the last he'd seen Percy was the day before yesterday," McGonagall's mouth tightened, staring out at the Forest as well. "We believe that he is involved with Him, sir." 

"I know," Dumbledore nodded, then turned to face McGonagall. "It doesn't surprise me that he would go that route. As I recall correctly, he had almost been sorted into Slytherin, but he, like Harry, had wanted Gryffindor badly enough that he managed to snake in. Of course, he did well in Gryffindor, very well indeed." 

"And yet, it doesn't surprise you he'd be involved with the Dark Lord?" 

"Oh, heaven's no, Minerva. At Harry's trial last summer, he was quite against Harry being admitted back into Hogwarts. It isn't the Imperius Curse, either, I'm afraid. He has left his family, his friends I've heard, and has been a different person in the moments I've seen of him." 

They stood in silence a moment longer before McGonagall said: "Why wouldn't it be necessary to bring Potter back?" 

"Ah, two things. One, he is safe at his aunt and uncle's home, even if he is alone and in the state of mind he is. And two, I believe Remus will attempt to bring Harry back himself." 

"Why do you think that?" 

"Because, my dear Minerva, he is still a Marauder and, being what he still is, will refuse to listen to what I have to say when it comes to something this important to him." 

*****

Remus woke up sometime later (nearly 2 in the afternoon, by the clock on the desk), his neck and shoulders still from playing cards all night and sleeping in the same position for hours. He remained laying on his stomach, his head turned to the left, staring at the full length mirror. A memory flooded into his mind, and he closed his eyes, remembering. 

_"MOONY! MOONY! MOOOOOOOOOOOONY!" A yell tore through the Gryffindor Common Room, and the whole room looked up at the boy's dormitory stairs immediately. The whole room, that is, except Remus, who remained sitting on the couch, his Divination book open on his lap. He sighed loudly, marked his page, and slammed the book shut. _

When he turned and faced the stairs, he saw a very disgruntled looking boy of sixteen, his hair falling in his eyes as he glared around the room. As soon as his eyes landed on Remus, he charged at him, screaming something inaudible. He jumped on the couch, shoving Remus onto his back, pinning him down at the shoulders. 

"WHAT-HAVE-YOU-DONE-WITH-MY-MAP?!" He screamed, shaking Remus' shoulders roughly. Everyone in the room watched curiously; a fight between the Marauder's was rare, and when it did happen, it was something of a mess. 

"Our_ map," Remus replied calmly, then latched his legs around his friend's waist, pulling him closer. "Don't you forget that, Sirius. You aren't the bloody mastermind in the map. I thought of it, and James drew it up. All you and Peter did was find the rooms!" To anyone who didn't know these two, one would have thought they were lovers, with the way they were laying on the couch. _

"Where-is-it?!" Sirius ground out, his teeth clenched, his face inches from Remus'. 

"Why do you think I have it? That's awfully low, Padfoot. Why do you need it, anyway?" Remus asked, not once raising his voice, but pushing the heel of his shoes into Sirius' lower back, pressing him into Remus more. 

"Because it's partly mine!" Sirius hissed, digging his hips down into Remus's, while his fingers dug into Remus's shoulders. A moment later, something dropped from Sirius' pocket, and he sat up on his knees, peering down at the ground. A small mirror stared up at him, but instead of his reflection looking back at him, James was smiling mischievously. 

"I found another room to add to our map," he said excitedly, and Sirius leaned down to pick it up. Remus remained laying where he was, his ankles locked behind Sirius' back still. "I've been testing the map out, and it's brilliant, Padfoot. It's bloody brilliant." 

"You have the map?" Sirius asked, and had the grace to look embarrassed when James answered yes. "All right, then. Mark your room and come back so we can fix it up," Sirius put the mirror back in his pocket and looked down at Remus, who was smiling lazily, twirling his wand idly in his hand. "Sorry, mate." 

"Uh huh," Remus grinned now, sitting up and pointing his wand at Sirius, bringing his legs back as he did so. "Petrificus Totalis_," he said, and when Sirius fell back, frozen, Remus leaned forward, his knee in between Sirius' legs, too close to his crotch for comfort. Remus saw the panic in Sirius' eyes, and leaned down, his lips near Sirius'. "Don't do that again, Padfoot. Or I'll have to knee you in some rude places," he winked, and with the Gryffindor Common Room as his audience, he placed a soft kiss on Sirius' mouth. _

Remus then stood up, grabbed his Divination book, and made his way up to the sixth year dormitory, where he angrily slammed the door behind him 

Stretching his arms above his head, grabbing the headboard as he did so, Remus buried his head into the pillow and sighed deeply, allowing tears to fall. 


	2. 02

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 

*****

_Will I hear you laugh _

Will I see you cry 

Will this world just end and let me die 

~Epitaph by author Jaimie D. Travis 

Will be minor slash eventually. Minor meaning Dray and Harry WANT each other but hardly act on it. More violence and problems in their lives, no need to confuse it more. 

*****

Downstairs, Harry could hear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talking to Dudley in loud voices, perhaps trying to wake Harry from his sleep. Harry himself had been awake for a little while, just staring up at his dark ceiling. Hedwig was gone, but that was no surprise to him. After Uncle Vernon had calmed down some, he'd thrown the bedroom door open, hissing something about minding his cousin. This, of course, meant 'stay in your room and dont do a thing'. Harry had no choice; he felt lightheaded and sick when he moved anyway. His chest hurt, and every time he let out his breath, his ribs ached. His head was pounding, and was now terrified to ask for any kind of medicine for it. 

"Dad, where's Harry?" Harry heard Dudley ask, and then heard his cousin stomping up the stairs toward his bedroom. 

"Son, son," Aunt Petunia said, and Harry rolled over carefully, putting his back to the door and closing his eyes. "We must let your cousin rest. He's ill." 

"But mum!" Dudley whined, and Harry shut his eyes tighter. He didn't want Dudley to see him, not like this. "Why not?" 

"Because he's ill! Hey, I have an idea, Vernon. Let's take our little Dudders out for celebration!" Aunt Petunia said, and Harry could hear them walking back to the staircase and begin walking down the steps to the living room. 

Harry opened his eyes but remained on his side, staring at his bedroom wall. The pain in his head, back and chest kept him from thinking of anything else except the scene from breakfast kept replaying. Why he told his aunt and uncle was beyond him. It was a mistake from the get-go, and he knew it, but he had done it and it was in the past. He was tired, but not in the sleepy kind of way. He wanted out; if he could get up from bed, he could run off. Nobody would recognize him for a few days, and he could be out of the country by the time the bruises were gone. In another country, he'd possibly be known by wizards, but only by name, and if he just avoided the magical community - 

White hot pain hit Harry in a wave, causing his scar to feel like it was being torn open. Harry letter out a small whimper, trying his hardest not to scream and cause a disruption in his aunt and uncle's home. Then again, they might be gone already; he hadn't been paying attention. 

Inside his head, Harry could hear a faint voice, screaming at the top of his lungs at someone Harry couldn't see nor hear. He closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip so hard he could feel it split open. Behind his closed eyelids, images appeared, but he didn't need to see them to know what was going on. Voldemort was angry, furious at someone, or something, and was slaughtering them without even the tiniest bit of thought, nor regret. Harry could see clearly, through the eyes of Voldemort, and he realized without even looking at the creatures Voldemort was killing, that they were in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. The creatures, Harry realized with a sick feeling, were the centaurs of the Forest. One unicorn was lying on its side, deep cuts bleeding the beautiful creature to death. A few paces behind the unicorn were spiders, giant ones, all shriveled up on their backs. It was impossible to tell how many were dead, but it didn't matter; Voldemort was slaying the creatures that would be a threat to him if he wasn't paying attention. 

Bane reared up in front of Voldemort (and Harry), kicking his front legs wildly, looking around with terrified eyes. He was the last of the centaurs, as far as Harry could tell, aside from Firenze, whom he assumed was still in the castle. Voldemort, however, lowered his wand, staring at Bane with narrowed eyes. 

"Centaur, do you wish to join the rest of your pard?" Voldemort asked, and although Harry was almost positive that centaurs were loyal to their pards, that they never chose sides, he wasn't all that surprised to see that Bane shook his head and got down on his two front legs, bowing in front of Voldemort. 

"I wish to join you, my Lord," Bane had replied, and Voldemort, pleased by this, began to smile, but at the same time, pushed Harry out of his head, leaving Harry sprawled on his back on his bedroom floor, blood trickling from his cut lips. 

_Dumbledore_, Harry thought frantically, _I have to write Dumbledore_. But Harry couldn't stand up, he couldn't move; the pain in his body was too great, and all he could manage was a feeble cry for help in the now-empty Dursley household. 

*****

Remus stared down at the ground, his arms resting against his knees, his hands clasped together. He _looked_ deep in thought, but truth was, he was barely thinking at all. A nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him something wasn't right here; he was babysitting for Dumbledore while half the Order was helping out at Hogwarts. He suddenly knew how useless Sirius felt; Sirius was one to get bored easily. Remus remembered his Hogwarts days, where he'd be content with just lounging around, reading or finishing up his homework, because truthfully, it's the only place nobody knew what he was, and that made him take everything one step at a time, enjoying his time. Sirius, who had grown up at Grimmauld Place, had tons of things to do over the summer up until he was sixteen; he'd explore the hidden passageways and find all kinds of things that he'd sneak back to Hogwarts (Remus suspected now that he was older that these things were full of dark magic). Which, naturally, was why the Marauder's Map was so accurate; Sirius was an expert at finding secret passageways and rooms. 

Peter had never mattered much to Remus, he thought with a feeling of regret. James was the one who was convinced that Peter was the greatest thing that could happen to them, but, as they had come to realize, it was the other way around. The greatest thing that happened to Peter was James, and _only_ James. That's not to say that Peter didn't care for the other two, but he admired James ever since he had laid eyes on him, and when James had gone off and married Lily, the beautiful Ravenclaw they'd often teased in the corridors after class, Peter had been pushed away. Remus and Sirius had, without second thought, remained by James' side, even if they, too, had been pushed away slightly, all having their own lives to begin. Sirius, being the godfather of the unborn Harry Potter (something Remus had to admit he felt slightly jealous about; he'd even argued with James about it at one point, being overly dramatic in saying "_Sure, don't let the werewolf be the godfather of your only child, let's let Sirius, the bloody lunatic who has found his way into tough spots more than once in his life, be the only family your kid may one day have. That'll be great, won't it, James? Knowing you left your kid in the wrong hands?_"), had often teased Peter that James had broken up with him, saying that in the end, Wormtail was just his snogging mate. 

Maybe if Remus had taken to liking Peter the way Sirius and James had, as Harry had taken a liking to Neville, helping him where he was the weakest, Peter wouldn't have become the bumbling idiot second hand of Voldemort. Naturally, both Sirius and Remus had kicked themselves after hearing that the secret-keeper had betrayed the whereabouts of James and Lily to Voldemort. Things happened for a reason, he realized as Remus mulled over these thoughts. If Lily and James hadn't died, Harry wouldn't have unknowingly defeated the Dark Lord, forcing him into hiding for twelve years. Twelve years for the Ministry to rebuild itself, and the Wizarding World to build up their defenses once again, hoping to be stronger in case there was another attack one day. And if Peter hadn't betrayed James to the Dark Lord, perhaps hundreds upon hundreds of other innocent wizards and muggles alike would have been slaughtered, ending their world entirely, guaranteeing that James, Lily, their son, Remus and Sirius would have died anyway. 

So in a way, there was a great reason for their deaths. Remus and Sirius both knew when James had died, and Harry had lived to defeat the Dark Lord, that their deaths were not on accident, that there was a true reason for it. But Sirius shouldn't have died, because nothing came of that death. It was just one more number for Bellatrix Lestrange to gloat about; her own cousin, no less. It sickened Remus, to say the least. The only thing that happened was a re-opened wound that Remus had buried deep inside after he'd tried his damned hardest to get over losing James. This time he felt too broken to even want to begin to get over this. He was much too old to be losing friends and dueling in battles that seemed pointless. Death seemed like the only way out of this, and he'd welcome it with open arms if he had the chance. 

"_RON_!" Hermione squealed, running down the stairs after Ron, who was laughing hysterically and carrying a book in his arms. He jumped over the couch, landing gracefully beside Remus, and shoved it under the cushion beside him. 

"Shh," Ron put his finger to his lips, then bolted through a door beside the staircase moments before Hermione jumped onto the landing, her hair tied back, looking around angrily. 

"Professor, have you seen -" 

"Through that door," Remus replied, pointing behind him without turning around. He had his eyes closed, remembering times when he'd done that, chasing after James after he'd done something incredibly stupid. 

Hermione was gone, but Remus could still sense someone standing there. His ears pricked slightly, and he could hear them rustling around, moving toward the couch. 

"Hey, Bill," Remus leaned against the back of the couch, looking up at the red haired Weasley with interest. His hair was wet, brushed out over his shoulders, and he was messing with a hair tie on his wrist. 

"Hi Remy, I have a question for you," Bill said, pulling his wand out and pointing it to his hair. He muttered under his breath, and Remus watched with mild interest as Bill's hair braided itself. After he tied off the end of the braid, he sat down next to Remus, ontop of the hidden book. "How would you like to go with me to Romania to get Charlie in a few days? Dumbledore's saying I need to take a buddy with me so I'm not alone, and the first person I thought of was you. 'Course, if you don't want to, that's fine." 

If Remus had half a mind, he'd turn it down. Then again, anything to keep his mind off of what was going on around him. "Tomorrow night's the full moon, so we'd have to go a few days after tomorrow, if that's all right." 

"Ah, no big deal. Charlie said his apparating license was revoked for a year a few days ago, and his wand was stepped on by one of those ruddy dragons, so we have to rescue him. They don't have floo over there, since it's a long way from civilization, and they live in those big camps. So, he has no way home, meaning we'll have to go over there and retrieve him via portkey," Bill smirked, shaking his head. "I wrote him and said he'll just have to wait until I feel like going over there, so we can leave any time you're up for it." 

An amused smile found it's way onto Remus' face before he could stop it. "How did he manage to get his license revoked?" 

"Er," Bill shrugged helplessly. "He was quite vague about it, really. Said something about apparating _accidentally_ into a brothel room that was, at the time, in use." Bill frowned and tried desperately to hide his smile. "Charlie is awful at lying, especially in letters. I'm really not sure _how_ he managed it." 

"I really thought one of the twins would be the first to be revoked, honestly," Remus smiled a bit more, glad his prior thoughts had been interrupted and pushed away. 

Bill leaned against the back of the couch and put his feet up on the table, looking over Remus, his expression suddenly serious. Remus forced himself to remain looking amused, even if his stomach plummeted through the couch. He'd rather not talk about himself, as he was sure Bill was going to start in on any moment. Luckily (or maybe it wasn't lucky at all), a white owl flew in from the opened window in the kitchen. Remus recognized Hedwig immediately, and got up to retrieve the note on her leg. 

Only she had no note, and she was looking disheveled. She latched onto Remus' arm, digging her toes into his bare skin, flapping her wings wildly, squawking loudly. Remus glanced at Bill, who was staring curiously from the couch, then looked back at the owl. She began biting his fingers, and was pushing her wings back, as if she were trying to pull Remus with him. 

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, coming down the stairs, rubbing her eyes as if she had just waken up. She stared at Hedwig a moment before saying: "Is something wrong with Harry?" 

Remus frowned, trying to get Hedwig off his arm, as she was tearing it apart with her nails. She only dug them in deeper, and only when she started to draw blood did Remus begin to panic. "I think something is wrong with him. She has no note and she's in hysterics." 

"She loves Harry," Ginny said quietly. 

An image flashed through Remus' head of the one last person he cared for lying somewhere, dead. Bile rose in his throat at the mere thought of it. "I'm going to apparate down there. Bill, you come with me. Ginny, make sure Ron and Hermione know where we went. We'll be back soon, probably before Dumbledore comes back," Remus said, then looked at Hedwig, who was breathing heavily but still trying hard to get Remus to budge. "Hedwig, you stay here, we're going to get Harry." 

As if she understood, Hedwig let go of Remus' arm and perched herself on the back of a chair, staring at Remus with big amber eyes. He stood staring at her a moment before turning around to face Bill. 

"This seems a bit..silly, doesn't it, Bill?" Remus asked, slightly amused, trying to lighten everything, but also concerned; something _must_ be wrong if Hedwig was here, acting the way she was. "Apparate there? Portkey back?" 

"Dunno. Let's decide when we get there, shall we?" Bill smirked, bowed, then disappeared with a small 'pop'. Remus glanced at the empty room, then a moment later, disappeared himself. 

*****

Harry was beyond dizzy, and felt at any moment he'd pass out - again. He was trying to get up onto his bed, but was failing miserably. Not only wouldn't his legs support him, his arms weren't working that well either. His lip had stopped bleeding an hour ago, and was now caked with dry blood. The hair on the back of his head was also caked in blood, matting his hair together. Aunt Petunia had been right; Harry needed a doctor. He didn't think anything was serious, just a concussion, but at the same time, the Order would definitely find out, and they'd find out he hadn't been eating much. That was probably the main factor in why Harry was having such a hard time, he had decided; he wasn't eating. 

Growling in frustration, Harry summoned all the strength he had left (it wasn't much) and, pushing all thoughts other than 'get on the bed' aside, grabbed his blanket in both of his fists. He bit his bottom lip, reopening the wound, and drug himself upward, pushing with his weak legs as he did so. Blood trailed from his lips down his chin, but he didn't notice it; his body was shaking with effort. He was more than halfway on the bed, and he gave up and collapsed, burying his head in the cool blanket. He was thirsty; he couldn't remember the last time he had even gotten a glass of water or juice, and slowly, he began to panic. His aunt and uncle hadn't come back yet, and it had to have been almost two hours since they left, and he could easily die right there, and not be found until the next morning. Sure, death was a comforting thought, because then he'd escape the burning pain in his body, and he'd also be with Sirius and, finally, his parents. 

But if he was going to die, he didn't want to go like this. Not at the hand of his uncle's angry beatings, or because he had stupidly stopping feeding himself. Hagrid had been right, Harry realized, fear starting to grip at him as he tried to pull his legs onto the bed, so he could curl himself up. Hadn't Hagrid said Sirius would have wanted to go the way he did? Didn't Sirius die for Harry, die to keep him alive, and that was the most heroic thing anybody could've done? No doubt Harry missed his godfather more than anything; he was the only person in the entire world who would put themselves before Harry to keep him alive. Everyone else expected Harry to be the hero, to throw himself in front of someone to ensure the life of the person he was protecting. That's why he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, wasn't it? And it wouldn't have mattered the person; it could have been Malfoy, who was threatening that he'd kill Harry for putting his father in jail, but yet, Harry would protect the Slytherin if it got down to that. 

Sirius wasn't his only family; he had the Weasleys, and Hermione. He had Lupin, even if they hardly talked as it was. He had more people to love him, and more people to be physically there. 

Harry closed his eyes tightly. Sirius was the only person that Harry really, truly loved in return. He was his godfather, and absolutely _nobody_ would ever be brave enough to do what Sirius had done. Not that Harry could blame someone; to go fight Death Eater's to ensure the safety of someone other than themselves was probably the hardest thing anyone could do. And yet, Harry's mother had done that, she had protected her son until she was gone, too. 

His body was tired, and even if he was thinking clearly and more logically than he had since Sirius died, there was no way he could get out of here. Aunt Petunia would be horrified to see Harry so ill, so weak, but she wouldn't do anything about it except perhaps try to feed him. She wouldn't want to upset the Order, and Harry wasn't one to tell on his aunt and uncle. Uncle Vernon probably wouldn't even check on him, and Dudley, he'd probably get a kick out of seeing Harry so sick. 

As Harry began to relax his tired and sore muscles, he closed his eyes, curling up the best he could. His head ached something horrible, and his scar, he feared, may really have burst itself open when he saw the scene in the Forest. Offhandedly, he remembered he had to contact Dumbledore, but it seemed so far away, and he felt like he was slowly dying anyway. Dumbledore would have to find out what had happened in his own way once Harry was gone. And as scared as Harry was about dying this way, and as logical as his thinking had been about Sirius, he'd welcome death because it may be his only chance to finally escape his constant hurt. 

*****

The estate was more than quiet these days. The parties had abruptly ended, and while the robes that had been specially made sat in the closet, having been untouched for months and will remain untouched for months to come, he hadn't cared one bit. Mind, he had liked some of those parties, the ones that his father would throw when his mother was out of town, tending to her family. His father had been evil, this much was true, and yes, it was only a matter of time before he was caught (his mother had screamed hysterically at her husband more than once, always telling him he'd be caught one day and they would divorce the second he got out of prison), what with his walking around, being dignified and yet, somehow, bastardly. Father had always been one to show off the fortune of his family, to always walk around, poised and even more perfect, with his brushed out hair and well-fitted robes, while in the back of his mind, thinking of ways to punish his son. 

The parties his father would throw were wonderful. He would allow him, Draco Malfoy, to attend every time, despite his age. He had many memories, most of which bled together as the years went on, but one in particular always stood out. He had been five or six, he couldn't remember the exact details, and his father had taken him out that day to buy a new dress robe. It wasn't a fantastic looking piece of clothing, because Draco had many more robes at home that were spectacular compared to this. And yet, Lucius, his father, had insisted on it, while telling his pouting son that if he wore the robes, he would receive anything he wanted. 

Draco, being a boy of six and was now reading any book he came across (his favorite was the one on dangerous creatures of the world), wanted nothing more than a pet. Lucius had questioned this with a mock surprised expression, his eyebrows raised gracefully as he kneeled in front of his son. The pet was, of course, a dangerous one; dangerous, but not as deadly as some of the creatures he wanted nowadays. The dragon had been a baby, but Draco himself couldn't take care of it, because for one, he was six years old. He had classes everyday; sometimes at the Manor, and sometimes in a classroom full of all kinds of magic kids (though none of them had possessed any true magic yet). And two, how do you go about taking care of a dragon that's six times your size in a year? 

His pet dragon, Mors, lived in Romania, but every year, then every summer when he started at Hogwarts, up until this point in time, he had spent a few days a week at the camps, admiring his beautiful pet with anticipation. The dragon keepers (Draco was sorely disappointed when Charlie Weasley had introduced himself as Mors' watcher one evening a few summers prior) had all promised both Draco and Lucius that one day, when Draco was strong enough and old enough, that he would be allowed into the pen with Mors' watcher, to see his dragon. 

Dragons, of course, were not meant to be pets, and it was nearly illegal to keep one. Somehow, though Draco had never figured out how it had happened, his father had purchased the beautiful creature the moment it had hatched. Draco had been allowed to be there, to watch **his** dragon come out of the egg, to lay its eyes on Draco. This, of course, was dangerous in of itself, because the first person the dragon had seen had been Draco, and had imprinted that face into it's mind, mentally associating Draco with his 'mother'. 

Lucius had named the dragon (as Draco wanted desperately to call him Brian; that, indeed, was far from a Malfoy name), paid for his buy, then led Draco to Diagon Alley. There, they purchased any and every book on dragons, so Draco would study and become as smart as all the keepers and watchers in Romania. 

Mors had grown considerably in the thirteen years of its life, and was one of the biggest dragons in its pen, perhaps in the whole camp. It was at least fifteen feet tall, probably more because Draco hadn't seen him in a year, but was (as Weasley said) the friendliest of all the dragons. This, of course, wasn't something Draco had wanted to hear, but at the same time, if he had an unfriendly dragon, he wouldn't get to be around it and pet it as often as he did. 

This summer his mum had refused to let him go to Romania. She said it was too dangerous, especially with the keepers and watchers that they had ("_Having a Weasley be a watcher? Where have the minds gone with these people?_" She had screeched a few nights ago). Of course, if his father had been home, they would be there right now, in their own camp, tending to his lovely dragon. Mors wasn't evil, though if he had the chance, Draco was sure he'd tear up many of those keepers and watchers. They treated some of those dragons horribly over there; but, Draco reminded himself, there were not only flying dragons, but the water dragons and basilisks in the waters of Romania which had to be monitored constantly. If he had to work like that, he'd be cranky too. 

At the party the night after he bought the boring robes and received the promise of a dragon in the days to come, Draco walked around, imitating his father as he walked. He had taken his father's walking stick (which was nearly as tall as Draco was at the time) and was walking with his shoulders back and head held high, nodding his head to acknowledge the adults around him. Most of the adults laughed and smiled at the cute little Malfoy child, and even a few shook his hand and held tiny conversations with the boy. A few of the wives ruffled Draco's hair, but he only smiled and nodded at them again before striding off for more company. Lucius watched all this from the banister, where he usually perched, allowing his guests to find him, with somewhat of a dignified, proud smile on his face. His son was the light of his parties at times, flaunting around as if he were the host of the party. 

As Draco grew older, he was allowed to drink, from sips of his father's best whiskies, to stark drunk (the first time just last summer, Draco remembered with a wince), but only then did the parties begin to have meanings. From the age of eleven, before he went off to Hogwarts, he had come to realize how bad his father was, indeed. 

He had never been hit before, and he remembered the first time that had happened. He was strolling about the ballroom with his father's walking stick, nodding as he often did to the guests, smiling with a hint of the Malfoy smirk, when he had accidentally bumped into someone. He never saw the face of the man, since he had been wearing a mask (his father enjoyed the masquerade parties he threw; his mother despised of them), but had a flash of something in his mind, something that made him realize that this man was not one to mess around with. The man just stared Draco down before turning his back to him. A moment later, Lucius forcefully pulled Draco from the room (all the time Draco whining that his father was hurting him), and closed the door to the drawing room, staring at his son with a look of bewilderment on his face. 

"How _dare_ you!? Do you even watch where you are going?" Lucius asked, snatching the walking stick from his son, then hitting him on the side of the jaw with the serpent's head on the top of the cane. Draco stared at his father in utter shock, his mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. He stood there for Merlin knew how long, just staring at his father, unaware of the small amount of blood that welled up on the inside of his mouth. Abuse was not a term Draco had fully understood, but as he stared at his father, perhaps expecting an apology of sorts, he came to realize that his father was changing. 

Now, as Draco stood on the balcony that led from his bedroom, his hands clasped firmly behind the small of his back, his shoulders square and his jaw set (something he had learned to do when he was little and did it often enough without even thinking about it) he closed his eyes and prayed. Malfoy's prayed, but it was a rare occurrence, because they had never needed to ask their Lord, whether it be Voldemort himself (though Draco never understood the meaning behind _that_, having your prays answered by Lord Voldemort indeed), Merlin or God. He remembered staring at Potter only a few months prior, telling him that yes, he was going to kill him for putting his father in prison. 

But now, as he stood there, the setting sun overlooking the Manor's estate, Draco Malfoy prayed to the Lord that his father remain in Azkaban and never, ever be released. 

*****

That last thing Remus expected to notice when he stepped into the Dursley household was the metallic taste in the air. The second thing he had noticed was that the place seemed empty. He thought Dumbledore had made it clear that the aunt couldn't leave, or at least couldn't leave without Harry. Which brought about another point. If the Dursley's were gone, Harry would most likely be with them, which meant that was a good thing, right? Then why had Hedwig been acting the way she was? 

Bill moved around and looked up the stairs that led to the second story. He glanced at Remus before making his way up to the second landing, while Remus made his way toward the kitchen to check over the first floor. The kitchen was a slight mess; the table had been moved from where it originally was the first time Remus had been here last summer. There was something unusual about it, though. It had been pushed up against the counter, as if it had just been shoved aside for some reason. Shaking his head, Remus looked around, and saw the wall beside the door was cracked. He raised his hand, tracing the cracks with his index finger, knitting his brows, trying to decide what it was that had caused this. 

The metallic taste was stronger in here, especially on the wall, where he could see something smeared on it. He bowed his head toward the wall, sniffing at it, and pulled back. It smelled of blood. The house smelled like blood. Above him, he could hear running footsteps, then Bill's voice from the top of the stairs. 

"Remus, Harry's up here! Hurry up, he doesn't look good _at all_!" 

Panic struck him and he looked at the kitchen wall again. Blood on the wall, which had been cleaned, but then again you can never get blood out for sure. The metallic taste of the air in the kitchen, which drove Remus crazy, being so close to the full moon. He could hear Bill impatiently pacing the top landing, waiting for Remus to come up, and suddenly, it was too much for Remus. 

"Is he well enough to portkey?" Remus asked, making his way out of the metallic-tasting kitchen to the staircase, staring up at Bill from the bottom step. He could smell the trail of blood up the stairs. 

"I don't think so. He's not waking up. I don't know, I'm not a bloody healer, but he needs a doctor. He's really sick, Remus, you need to get up here and help me." 

"I can't," Remus frowned, feeling useless, and panic gripped at him as he thought about Harry upstairs being sick. "I smell blood everywhere. Is he bleeding?" Remus' stomach fell as he saw Bill nod, looking back into a bedroom then back at Remus. "Okay, I'm going down to Arabella Figg's house, it's only a few streets away. I'll contact Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, you..stay with Harry." 

Remus was gone and out the door before Bill could reply, and stood a moment outside, catching his breath and clearing his mind of the smell of blood that tempted him inside the house. 

*****

Charlie Weasley stepped out of his tent and looked up at the darkening sky, holding a letter in his left hand and a boot in his right. Across the camp, he could see the silhouette of other keepers and watchers, yelling things back and forth at each other, instructing one another as they moved a newly hatched baby dragon toward the camp, while trying to ward off the mother, who seemed to be in hysterics. Charlie was usually the lead watcher on the scene, calming the mothers while the babies were taken to camp to be fed, marked, and had all sorts of tests and spells placed on it's body. The keepers did the spells, so Charlie wasn't exactly sure what types of spells were placed on the baby dragons, though he knew some of them kept the tempers down. 

Now, of course, all he could do was sit and wait for Bill to arrive to take him home, and back to Diagon Alley, where he could purchase a new wand. The other keepers and watchers at the camp would offer their wands, but as they all needed their own protection, that couldn't be done. 

So here he was, standing in the middle of the empty camp, a letter in one hand and his protection - a boot - in the other. Dragons rarely escaped their protection wards, but just to be certain, he kept a boot. The last time a dragon got out, it had been while an egg was hatching, as most of the keepers and watchers paced around that pen, ignoring the other dragons as they did so. But that time it had been a basilisk who had escaped the wards of the water habitat, and since it had only been around four feet long, it wasn't much of a danger. 

Looking around, Charlie's eyes fell on a tent that was rarely used, and he had an odd feeling that it wouldn't be used again, at least for a long while. Visitors were rare here, on account of the dangers of the dragons that lived in this part of Romania. The camps were vast and spread out all over eastern Romania, as there were too many dragons, basilisks, chimeras and other descendents of their kingdoms to keep in one camp. When Charlie's camp got visitors, it was often just inspectors, the Minister of Magic, and families of the keepers and watchers. But what was an even rarer occurrence were visitors outside of the lineage of the people who worked with Charlie. 

The tent belonged to one Lucius Malfoy, who was now in Azkaban for life, as was sentenced to him by Minister Fudge. Fudge had said that usually, Death Eaters got at least fifteen years, but being Lucius Malfoy, the 'snake of a man' who used his money to buy his way into everybody's hearts, the man who lied fifteen years prior about being a Death Eater, saying he was under the Imperius Curse, he deserved a longer sentence. Malfoy was never a nice character, especially to Charlie (since he was, indeed, a Weasley), but the boy of his (Draco, was it?) wasn't too bad. Charlie had heard stories from his brothers about the Draco kid, what he did to them at Hogwarts, and what they did in return, but he himself never had reason to complain about him. 

Draco was fascinated with the dragons here. He rarely left this camp, where his dragon lived a mile or so away. Charlie had offered to take Draco down to the water habitat, to see the basilisks and serpent dragons, but they only mildly amused Draco, and he had turned that offer down on a number of occasions. Before the kid went to Hogwarts, Charlie remembered as he began walking toward the cabin-like store to check his post and buy more food for his tent, Lucius had come with his son for weeks at a time during the year. Charlie guessed he had been there, throughout the entire year, at least three or four months altogether. When he started going to Hogwarts, his trips were only during the summer, and only a week or two, as he had other things to tend to at home. 

Mors was one of the toughest dragons Charlie had on his watch. It wasn't mean, no, but if you pushed the wrong buttons, it got angry and refused any kind of human touch. The dragons here were somewhat tamed (the more dangerous ones were miles away, with keepers that had been doing this for decades), and it was rare to have an attack occur, which was probably because of the spells keepers had put on when they were young. The older dragons, the dangerous ones far off, were born in the wild and were too old by the time they arrived to have proper spells put on (Norbert had been one of those dragons, Charlie thought as he crossed over the threshold of the country store). 

"Heya Charlie," the elderly owner of the country store (squib) said as Charlie entered, his copy of _The Evening Prophet_ folded as he looked over at the door. "Got somethin' interestin' for yeh." 

"Yeah?" Charlie came over and leaned against the counter as the man took out the newest post for Charlie. "What's the news say tonight, Mar?" 

"SSDD," the man shook his head, then dropped a few letters and a large package on the counter. "You-Know-Who apparently plotting attacks all over the world now. You said you knew the Potter kid?" Charlie nodded as he tore open the rectangular package. "So what's he doing while the world is being plotted against? What's he doing to stop all this from happenin'?" 

"He's only sixteen, Marius," Charlie smiled, opening the box, and dropping the contents into his hand. It was a dagger, and Charlie started, then set it on the counter carefully. Marius picked up the dagger and examined it as Charlie read the letter that accompanied it. 

_Dear Charlie- _

I hope this finds you before anything else does. I have reason to believe that the dragons will be next, and while a dagger will hardly do anything to protect a wand less wizard, it's better than nothing. Take care of yourself. Lupin and I will be down there in a few days' time to pick you up, after the full moon this month. Mum's going to have a heart attack when she finds out the things you've been up to. The dagger isn't much - just something I picked up in Knockturn Alley the other day. The man said the history is very vague, and that 'strange things have happened to its owners' (he said this in a queer sort of voice). He didn't tell me what had happened, but hinted that they ended in bloody deaths. Isn't that cool? 

Be there soon. 

Bill 

Charlie pocketed the letter and looked up at Marius, who was aiming the dagger at a dartboard beside the doorway. He grabbed the rest of his post, and just as Marius threw the dagger at the board, the door opened, revealing a slightly startled blond. Then his face screwed up halfway between a scowl and a smirk. 

"You'll have to aim better than that, squib, " drawled Draco Malfoy, a broomstick slung over his shoulder and a small backpack in his left hand, tossing hair out of his eyes as he smirked boldly. 

*****

Albus Dumbledore was always a busy man. If there wasn't a war going on, there were problems inside his school (most of which were minor enough that the students never knew something had happened), and if there weren't problems with his school, there were problems involving the Ministry that he had to tend to. And, finally, if there weren't problems where he was primarily concerned, the Gods would decide that he didn't need rest, and _make_ a problem occur. 

The new problem was not Voldemort, for he was retreating back to his hideout, leaving the Forbidden Forest. Why, Dumbledore couldn't be able to answer that, at least not at the moment. The Ministry was doing quite all right, not needing Dumbledore's help, and since the school was no longer under the threat of Voldemort (at least for the time), his school didn't need his attention. The Gods decided that at this moment, they would pick on Harry Potter, once again. 

When Remus had called, getting a hold of Snape first, all he managed to say (between gasping breaths; he had run all the way to Mrs. Figg's house) was that Harry was injured and bleeding. This had to be something serious, though Dumbledore hadn't quite expected this. 

When he entered the Hospital Wing, where all of the current residents of Hogwarts had flocked together - Severus, Poppy, Minerva, Bill Weasley, Tonks, Moody, and Arthur Weasley - he wasn't able to see the poor boy. Respectively (or so Dumbledore hoped it was), the professors and four members of the Order backed away from the bed, leaving Madam Pomfrey beside Harry's bed, slowing waving her wand back and forth, clicking her tongue as she did so. 

Dumbledore had to stop himself from gasping, and had to force a calm look upon his face when he first saw Harry. It could have been worse; he could be dead. At the moment, though, he was awfully pale. That was the first thing that came to mind. Not pale like the dead, but more of a sickly yellow color, which was probably because of the bruised skin. His left eye was swollen, a dark, purple bruise pulsing beside his temple. His jaw was also bruised, maybe fractured if he were to guess. The raven hair had been shaved off, leaving only small hairs over the boy's head. 

"I thought I asked you not to do anything about his appearance," Dumbledore looked up at his mediwizard, but not at all angry. He felt too ill to be angry, and he knew that Poppy wouldn't go against his wishes unless she had good reason. 

"I know, Headmaster, but he was still bleeding out of the back of his head. I had to tend to that wound first," Poppy met his gaze sternly, but he could see the level of fear underneath her cold stare. "Aurors are coming for photos, right?" 

"They are on their way, yes. Aside from the wound on his head, he isn't bleeding anywhere else?" Dumbledore asked, knowing he had to ask, but not knowing whether or not he wanted to know the answer. 

"As far as I can tell, he's not. A few broken ribs, and more bruises on his chest," Poppy lowered the blanket that covered Harry's chest, revealing a bruise that covered his lower chest in a horizontal fashion. It was an inch or so width wise. "I'm not sure what could have done this. There are more Aurors at his house, taking more pictures and questioning the family?" 

"And hopefully arresting the bastard who did this," Severus hissed from the foot of the bed. Dumbledore looked up, surprised for a moment before allowing a small smile to pass his face. 

"Now, now, Severus, language," Dumbledore mused slightly before locking his fingers together in front of his stomach. "But, yes, hopefully arresting Vernon Dursley. Have we decided on muggle or wizard trial?" 

"I'm afraid it will have to be a muggle trial, sir," Minerva said, from her spot between Tonks and Arthur. Tonks was pale, and Dumbledore knew it wasn't her own doing; she was looking terrified, her eyes glued to Harry's face. 

Nodding, Dumbledore turned to Severus and said: "Would you so kindly speak to Remus about Harry's well-being? He would be in the Great Hall, sulking." 

Severus turned and left the room quickly, never looking back or even replying Dumbledore before he left. 

"He will be fine, though, right Poppy?" Tonks asked, her voice shaking; she was on the verge of tears. 

"Yes, yes, as soon as we can wake him up long enough to feed him. It doesn't look like he has eaten in days," Poppy clicked her tongue again, then lowered her wand. "I find no traces of magic, Headmaster. He has a concussion, and I'm trying my best to keep potions in his body to keep the pressure and swelling down in his head. Once the photos are done, I can easily put him back together, but I don't know when he'll wake. To _enervate_ him could damage his brain while it's in such an unstable condition as it is." 

"Very well, Poppy, thank you," Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, then looked over at the group of remaining professors and Order members. "Bill, would you be so kind and return to the Burrow to inform your family of what has happened?" Bill nodded, and left the room, glancing back at Harry once before disappearing around the corner. "Tonks, Minerva, you could stay here to speak with the Aurors about what you had seen at the house. Moody, Arthur, could you wait out in the front of the school for the Aurors and Minister Fudge. They should be apparating near the grounds and making their way out of the Forest shortly," the two nodded, Moody's magical eye studying Harry one more time before leaving the room with Arthur. 

Poppy moved around the bed and made her way back to her office. Dumbledore moved closer to the bed, and looked down at Harry, feeling his chest tighten at the sight. He looked awful, but that wasn't the worst. When he got better, physically, his mental state could possibly be worse, and the last thing anyone wanted was to break Harry Potter. 

Lightly, Dumbledore touched Harry's forehead, his fingers grazing over the bruise in Harry's eye. In his sleep, Harry furrowed his brow and let out a small sigh, as if it hurt him to be touched. Dumbledore bent over and softly touched his lips to Harry's temple, whispering a protection charm as he did so. 

*****

Remus was pacing the length of the Great Hall, his eyes drooping with lack of sleep, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent down in concentration. It had been an hour since he all but ran to Mrs. Figg's house, nearly tore the door off her hinges, and threw more floo powder than was needed into the fireplace. Dumbledore didn't arrive at 4 Privet Drive as he had hoped; Severus Snape had, with Madam Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall. At being insulted for his weaknesses (by Snape, naturally), Remus remained staring at the front of the house, and had the privilege to meet Vernon Dursley once again. 

Dursley, to say the least, was a coward. Beating Harry, indeed. That hurt Remus more than Sirius's death had, and Remus wasn't entirely sure why it had such an impact on him. 

The man who was Harry's uncle explained over and over, his temper flaring more every time, that it wasn't really his fault that it had come to this. If Harry hadn't told him such lies, he had told Remus as they stood on the porch, neighbors standing outside watching their normal neighbor talking to an abnormal stranger in odd robes, he wouldn't have had to hit Harry. The way the man said 'hit' made it sound like a slap across the face, rather than an all-out beating, which Remus had been startled to realize. When asked about what lies Harry had told (as Harry had never been one to lie), Mrs. Dursley had cut in, telling them that Harry had said something about a man who was a memory, and another man who was a host body, and something else about Sirius Black - 

"Do not mention Sirius to me, nor to Harry, _ever_ again," Remus had said with such hatred toward these muggles, such anger that he could feel his body changing under the strain of the full moon the next night. 

"Who _are_ you?" Vernon Dursley asked, his anger dissipating to fear, and began avoiding Remus's eyes, a sign that his eyes had begun to bleed to his yellow wolf eyes. 

"Remus Lupin, and I am going to say this one more time," Remus had leaned forward, his eyes wide and full of anger, but not touching the man. "Do not speak of my friend again. Now," Remus had stepped back, staring up at the lit window that was Harry's, where he could see figures working at the bed. "Why does your house smell like blood?" 

Dursley had stuttered and got angry again. Before he could manage a complete sentence, Snape had come out of the house, his dark green robes billowing out slightly, his arms occupied with an ill Harry Potter. As they passed (Snape in front, then Pomfrey and McGonagall, both carrying Harry's belongings, and lastly, Bill, who was carrying Hedwig's cage) the scent of blood wafted past Remus. He closed his eyes, his fists at his sides, shaking in both anger and temptation. Blood was blood; it didn't matter who it came from, and considering the Wolfsbane Potion hadn't been administered this month (due to Dumbledore needing Remus's use of his senses), he was more blood-thirsty than needed be. 

Now he stood in the empty Great Hall, and had stopped pacing. He was staring into the empty fireplace darkly. How could someone harm their own like that? Harry must have been sick before his beating, otherwise his body wouldn't have reacted the way it did. Remus had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore had put some kind of spell on Harry before he went home, which backfired and screwed up Harry's healing process. That could happen, couldn't it? 

"Potter is fine," a voice said quietly behind him. Remus, who was now sitting on the nearest table, straightened up and turned his head, looking out of the corner of his eye at Snape. "Though Albus wants me to talk to you in regards of the boy's well-being." Snape sat down on the table-top beside Remus, dropping his arms on his knees and staring at the fireplace as well. A moment later, flames burst into the grate, illuminating Remus and Snape's face. 

"Don't do that," Remus muttered, shaking his head, but never took his eyes off the yellow-orange flames that licked the sides of the fireplace. 

"Do what?" Snape asked, his voice light and somewhat innocent sounding. Then he grew serious and looked over at Remus. "We fear that Potter has been far worse than we originally thought, both mentally and physically. His uncle didn't just hit Potter, he beat him unconscious, which accounts for the broken ribs, concussion and blood on the back of his head." 

"And the smell of blood in their house," Remus sighed, his body filling with dread. "Is that why there was the blood on the wall? Could they have thrown him against the wall?" 

"Even with Potter weighing fifty three kilograms, it would be hard to easily lift him and throw him across the room," Snape shook his head, his brow creased in thought. "No, we'll have to wait until Potter wakes to tell us what had happened. What is concerning about Potter's situation is how his body is reacting to these injuries. He looks as if he's been starved, but I'm wondering if Potter didn't starve himself on purpose." 

"Anorexia," Remus whispered, and then put his head in his hands, letting out a small growl. "Anything else?" 

"He has cuts on his knuckles and the palm of his hand. The mirror in his bedroom was shattered, so we're assuming he punched the glass and got cut up. However, the cut on the palm of his hand is too deep and too straight to have been from a stray shard of glass, so we're looking into whether or not he purposely had done that, as well." 

Remus swallowed the bile in his throat and looked up, tears starting to blur his vision. "Harry wouldn't harm himself on purpose," Remus whispered quietly, wiping at his eyes as a few tears began to trickle. 

"The boy you knew last summer is not the same." 

"Maybe not, but he still wouldn't do this." 

Remus looked up and met Snape's gaze defiantly. Snape shook his head and got down, waving his hand at the fireplace, and the flames disappeared. "We don't know anything yet, Lupin. He's unconscious because he was beaten. I know nothing of previous abuse in his life." 

"You are a poorly informed man, then," Remus stood up as well, staring at Snape, anger flashing in his eyes. "You may be on the in with the Order, but you know nothing of Harry's life." 

"I've seen some of his past memories," Snape said, raising his chin slightly. "I am his Occlumency teacher." 

"You _were_, and you gave up on him because he saw your memory. But do you know what he saw? He saw his father picking on a kid, much like you pick on Neville Longbottom. He no longer has the respect for his father he once had. And why? Because you changed his view of that." 

"He invaded my pensieve without my knowledge; it was his own fault his view changed." 

"You left it out in the open! I understand it's embarrassing -" 

"- is not!" 

"But you have to understand Harry's position. Up until he was eleven and left that household to come to Hogwarts, he'd been treated like _crap_. Yes, you hide behind this wall because of what we had done to you when we were kids, but I assure you, Severus, that Harry had no knowledge of this, and he has gained respect for you because of this." 

Snape stared at Lupin, his eyes full of emotions Remus had rarely seen in the man's eyes before. Despite the raw emotion in his eyes, his voice was full of anger. "The Potter boy knows nothing of being constantly tormented everyday by four of the most inept people to walk the grounds of Hogwarts. He may know abuse, but not like I do. He may have seen images of me when I was just a boy, crying and bleeding, but it doesn't mean anything. You, on the other hand, you," his voice was shaking in bottled anger and other emotion, "you have no idea what it was like for me growing up, werewolf. Potter may have been beaten, may have starved himself to the point where it might be impossible to fix him, and I do feel regret for that boy, because no child deserves this. You have no right to preach to me, to try to change my attitude toward that boy. You, of all people, who never stopped Potter and Black all those times, you who was the bloody werewolf and knew what it was like to have to hide your personal life from the world, you who apparently had great friends who sacrificed themselves for the ones they love, would never know what it was like to be in the position I was in, the position Potter is now." 

"You will never know the position Harry is in. And why the hell are you defending him?" Remus asked, stalking after Snape who was now billowing out of the Hall. 

Snape spun around and stared at Remus, his eyes full of hurt that Remus hadn't seen in years. "I may not know what it's like to have parents and people around that care and love me, werewolf. But I do know what it's like to live with people who despise you and hate you for being alive. I may not know what it's like to be constantly followed around in the way Potter is, with everyone judging him by the way he keeps his hair, or what type of girl he likes. As far as I'm concerned, this is an experience Potter will have to learn from." 

"What lesson could he possibly learn from this, Severus?" Remus asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. He was shorter than the man by probably five inches, but he was standing his ground, glaring up at the man in front of him. 

"Life isn't bloody perfect." 

Snape stared down Remus before turning on his heel and stomping off down the hall. Remus watched him, and felt his chest tighten. Of course life wasn't perfect, and Harry never thought it was; obviously, it wasn't, and everyone knew that. Snape, who had become a Death Eater right alongside Regulus Black, knew life wasn't fair, or perfect. 

What was keeping Remus glued to the floor, confused and suddenly full of guilt, was what Snape had willingly told him. The emotion in the man's eyes, something that probably only Dumbledore had ever seen the past seventeen years, was strong. Snape had just told Remus that when he was a kid, the very same Severus (_Snivellus_ as Sirius and James had always called him, and now Remus was regretting never putting a stop to that sooner) Snape that had been tormented in the corridors and in the classrooms day in and day out by the four marauders, would go home and be abused. Not only that, but worse than Harry, and Harry had gotten it pretty bad. 

Sighing, Remus crossed his arms and leaned against the corridor wall, closing his eyes. He was ill; the full moon was tomorrow night; he was tired, worried, upset, and above all else, guilty about how he had treated his former school-mate. Not only had Harry been beaten and sick, he was starved and probably dying. 

Rolling head neck, popping the joints, Remus made his way back to Dumbledore's office, deciding to take the advice he had been given an hour prior and go to the Burrow. There was no need for him here at the time. 

*****

Hermione Granger was lounging on the couch, a book in her lap (the one Ron had taken from her earlier; she had found it when she sat on the couch), but she wasn't reading the page she had it opened to. Ginny was on the floor, wrestling with George, who was teasing her about her latest boyfriend. Ron and Fred were in the kitchen with their mum, trying to comfort her. 

Percy hadn't been found, but the clock was no longer on 'mortal peril'. Fred was telling his mum that maybe Percy had met Rita Skeeter, who wanted to do a report on his life, and that had been a threat on his part. This, of course, did nothing to calm his mother; and neither had the news of Harry when Bill had come home a half an hour ago. 

"I bet he's evil now," Bill muttered, sitting down beside Hermione, keeping his voice low. Hermione looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Percy, that is. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? He was excellent at defending himself against dark arts, and he was working alongside every wizard this time last summer against Harry. He's never really been one of the family, y'know? Everyone had some sense of humor here, ever since me and Charlie were able to talk. Perce was the first one who could read and write, and he always did excellent in his classes. He never joined in on the family activities we used to have; he was always too busy studying and reading up on history." 

"Getting good grades and reading before anyone else doesn't make you evil!" Hermione said, somewhat indignantly. "I don't know _where_ boys get off thinking those kinds of things." 

"The point is," Bill continued, rolling his eyes slightly. "That in _our_ family, he was the odd one. Always locking himself up in his room, and being secretive about everything. It doesn't surprise me in the least, and I've tried talking to mum about this. Dumbledore and dad have both been trying to make her see that Percy doesn't care anymore." 

Behind the couch, the fireplace cracked wildly and turned green, and a moment later, Remus entered the room. Everyone's eyes turned to him, expecting him to tell them what the latest on Harry's condition was, but he didn't. Instead, he made his way to the staircase and slowly walked up the stairs, his head bent low in thought and his hand gripping the banister as he went. Hermione went to follow, but Bill put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. A moment later, Remus disappeared, and a second later, his bedroom door clicked shut. Ron, who was in the doorway of the kitchen, looked at Bill and Hermione. 

"That was odd. What's going on?" he asked, and sat down on the floor next to Ginny and George, who were now holding a poster above their heads and pointing out the figures of ancient witches and wizards, making up stories about their love lives. 

"I don't know. When do you think we can visit Harry?" Hermione looked up at Bill hopefully, who was re-tying his hair, then gave her a small shrug. 

"He looked awful. Remus couldn't do anything because of the full moon tomorrow." 

"He must feel so useless," Hermione sighed and closed her book. "How badly injured is Harry, Bill? You said he had a concussion, but wouldn't they let us see Harry if that was all that was wrong?" 

Bill shrugged, smiled slightly, and stood up. Ignoring Hermione's question altogether, Bill made his way into the kitchen, where he began trying to comfort his mum. Hermione's eyes flashed angrily for a second before she dropped her book on the table beside the couch and stood up. 

"Well, I'm going to talk to Lupin. I'll be down later to help your mum with supper, Ron. Come tell me when we hear news about Harry, will you?" Hermione asked kindly, and Ron nodded, narrowing his eyes. He wasn't about to argue with her, but what more could he do? 

Hermione climbed the stairs to the second floor, where she tentavily knocked on Lupin's door. A moment later, he opened it, and she was surprised to see that his hands were starting to grow claws, and his eyes were a wolfish yellow. She knew from her reading that werewolves sometimes began to change within the days of a full moon, but she'd never seen Lupin like this. Older werewolves, who have dealt with the disease longer than others, were often able to control their bodies from changing like this. 

As if reading her mind, Lupin smiled, showing the elongated canines, and opened the door wider, saying: "I usually have better control than this, but the past few days have been stressful. I won't hurt you." He made his way back into his bedroom and sat on the mattress, and proceeded to take off his shoes. He had already taken off his robes, leaving him in jeans and a white shirt. His graying hair had been swept back, staying in place with a spell that Bill had probably taught him. 

Sitting down at his desk, Hermione stared Lupin straight in the face and said, "Harry's okay, isn't he?" 

"He'll be fine. Just needs some rest, is all," Lupin replied, looking up at her, smiling as he unconsciously flexed his aching hands, the claws scratching at the air. "He's hurt pretty badly, to tell you the truth, but he'll be just fine. What's going on with the Percy thing?" 

"Oh," Hermione dropped her gaze, somewhat disappointed. She'd rather talk about Harry, but didn't want to press the subject with the half-formed werewolf. "Bill thinks he's a Death Eater." 

"Is that so?" Lupin pushed himself back against his headboard, and tilted his head at his former student. "Does that surprise you at all?" 

Hermione bit her lip in thought. Had it surprised her? In all the years she had known him, he had been polite to her, and didn't know of any previous falling out with his family, aside from last summer's. But no, she didn't think it surprised her much. Bill was right - Percy was the one member of the family that didn't seem to fit in. It had only been a matter of time before their views were different. 

"Not that much. I just find it odd he'd be in Gryffindor if he was really plotting to go to V-voldemort's side," she said, and then looked up, partly curious as to how Lupin would react to his name, and partly just to look somewhat brave. 

Lupin didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled and leaned forward. "Well, Sirius had been in Gryffindor while his entire family was composed of Slytherins. He had a temper at times, I'll tell you, and it was a mystery to us as to why exactly he was a Gryffindor. Looks can be deceiving, Hermione. People change, and their views of the world they live in change with them. Everyone changes, some for the better, some for the worst. Others, like Lucius Malfoy, have always been moronic, being born into a horrible family as it was. There are other characters, of course, who would never be considered dark figures until they deceived you." 

"Like Peter," Hermione said, and when Lupin nodded, she sighed and frowned. "I just don't know. Percy was always kind to me. I just don't see him being evil." 

"To say Death Eaters aren't evil would be a lie. But I know a few ex- Death Eaters, and they are far from it. Regulus, Sirius' brother, had never been evil. He joined with Voldemort for completely different reasons. In those days, the name Voldemort wasn't known, and when he promised all live's spared, a lot of people believed him," Lupin scratched his chin with his claws and looked up at the ceiling. "Unfortunately, there are still shady characters in our world, much like in the Muggle world, who will always be considered 'evil'. Slytherin's, mostly, but there are a few good Slytherins in the world - Severus Snape for one - just as there are a few bad eggs in all other Houses, in all other schools, in all parts of the world. Percy would just be one more that has changed his mind and his views." 

Hermione nodded, but her mind was reeling. Anyone could switch sides if Percy did. And that meant - 

"Harry could," Hermione's head snapped up and she stared at Lupin, her eyes huge. Lupin nodded slowly, his fingers lacing together as his claws receded and his eyes bled back to normal. 

"He could, of course. The world may prove to be too hard for him to defend; he may be unable to continue losing his friends for the freedom of those he doesn't know. Harry could quite easily throw in the towel and try to join Voldemort, but chances are, he'd be murdered the first chance Voldemort got." 

"And you aren't scared that would happen?" Hermione could feel her eyes begin to water at the thought of losing Harry to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. 

Lupin studied Hermione a moment before crawling across the bed and resting on his knees in front of her. He grasped her hands in his, and stared her in the eye. "I'm terrified that it could happen. It's a possibility, what with losing Sirius, and.." Lupin could feel his throat tighten, and he sat back. 

Hermione took this opportunity to stand up and, without a look back at Lupin, she rushed out of the room, leaving Lupin staring after her. 

*****

SSDD - Same shit, different day. 

53 Kilograms (Harry's weight) is roughly 115 lbs. 

There are a few hints in this chapter that will explain future chapters. I've been writing this now for a while and I've come to the conclusion that there will either be a sequel, or this story will be extra long. 

If you need to get in touch with me, my email is PatheticInvader@netscape.net, and my livejournal addy is . I'll start posting updates, cookies, etc in my journal as the story progresses. 


	3. 03

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either. 

Thanks for pointing out my mistake ^_^ 

*****

"When did you leave?" Charlie asked as he watched Draco pick at his supper, obviously not hungry but also wanting something to distract him from the current situation. 

It was past eight, and the sun had already set. The camp was lit up with false light, which had been set up by the keepers to continue their work on the new baby dragon. Charlie was tired; his day always started at five in the morning, with or without a wand, but he couldn't sleep because he had more important things to figure out. One being why Draco Malfoy was sitting in his tent in Romania, a long way from home. 

Draco looked up, his face screwed up in a scowl. "What's it to you, Weasley?" 

Charlie sighed and moved around the table in his tent and sat down, staring across at Draco expectantly. "Well, I'll tell you why I need to know, Malfoy. For one, you're in my tent, in my dragon camp, eating my food, without your father or mother here. You ran away, obviously. If you want me to keep you here without a word to authorities, you're going to answer my questions." 

Glaring, Draco set his fork down and pushed his chair back. He got to his feet, and began pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he did so. "I left at around noon today. I didn't fly the entire way here, so don't ask me if I did. I used the Knight Bus to get to the closest point to this camp as I could, and flew the rest of the way here." 

"You couldn't have used your own wand, or else the Ministry would be out looking for you," Charlie said, watching as Draco moved to his bureau and started picking up the figurines of dragons. 

"Of course I wouldn't use _my own_. I have a few wands that aren't traceable through the Ministry," Draco looked up, and smirked at Charlie's confused look. "It's illegal, Weasley. My father stole wands from other wizards, and keeps them in our Manor. Oh, don't look at me like that. He did it so I could practice magic during the summer." 

Charlie had many views on the proper way of raising children. This, of course, was one of the things you do _not_ do to set a good example for them. Trying to keep the anger out of his voice, Charlie said: "Okay. Now, why did you run off from home? I mean, if you've got tons of money and things at home to keep you happy, why would you come out here and camp?" 

"More than one reason. May I?" Draco asked, holding up a bottle of firewhiskey, and when Charlie nodded, he took a sip from it. "My mum is completely nuts. She refused to let me come down here to see my dragon, saying it was too dangerous, too many mudblood and half-blood keeper and watchers, too many purebloods who were a disgrace to our family (Charlie had a sneaking suspicion Draco just said that to be a prat), all the usual stuff. Plus, my life was threatened. Oh, can I have some of this too?" 

Draco held up another bottle of liquor. 

"Yeah, sure, what do you mean your life was threatened?" Charlie stood up, his mind beginning to race. If this kid's life has been threatened, the worst place for him to be is with _dragons_. Plus, Charlie didn't really want to be killed too. 

"Someone's been sending threats. The usual; dead hybrids of chimera and unicorns, notes, blood on the walls of the sleeping chamber corridors," Draco said nonchalantly, taking a sip from the bottle and grimacing. "This tastes like shit, Weasley." 

"Sorry, they don't sell much alcohol around here. Getting stark drunk with dragons around isn't professional. Wait," Charlie took in what Draco had just told him. "A hybrid of a chimera and a _unicorn_?!" 

Picking up another figurine, Draco furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure if it was a unicorn, but that would be a bloody amazing animal, wouldn't it? I'd call it the Chimicorn." 

"Okay, Malfoy, I want to know what you're doing here. You can get drunk off my firewhisky, fine. But if you're going to be putting me in danger, I want to know why, or else I'm calling your mother and sending you home," Charlie said, beyond irritated. He could tell Draco was just playing with him, but now wasn't the time to be doing that. 

Draco looked up at Charlie, his eyes flashing, and he replaced the dragon figurine on the table. The dragon curled itself up again, it's tail moving up and down as it breathed out smoke and fell back to sleep. 

"You want to know? Alright. My mother disappeared this morning, and that's why I ran. We got threats that she'd be the first one gone, and when she disappeared and none of the elves could find her, I ran. I bloody ran because hell no I'm not going to be killed off, too. This place is safer than my estate. Yes, there were hybrid animals roaming the grounds of my estate and then we were sent their dead bodies. Yes, we had blood all over the corridor walls, but my mother said it was just the ghosts of the manor upset because my father is gone. We got letters and all sorts of threats, and then she disappeared this morning. I freed all the house elves; I didn't want them slaughtered. I wasn't going to sit there alone and allow death to take me too," Draco sat down on the floor, and pulled his knees to his chest, leaning against the wall. He stared up at Charlie, as if daring him to call him a liar. 

Charlie was stuck, he realized as he stared down at Draco. One, he knew Draco wouldn't have a place to go if his mother disappeared; he'd end up in a foster home for a year before he was seventeen. Even then the Ministry could say he killed his mother, not trusting another Malfoy because of Lucius. But, Charlie thought with regret, he couldn't keep Draco here at the camp. He wouldn't be accepted, not with everyone knowing his father was a Death Eater; nobody would trust him. Hell, Charlie didn't really trust him, but the kid had never given him reason to not trust him before. He would be a danger to Charlie and his camp, though, if he was being threatened and people were out looking for him. 

"Do you have any godparents?" Charlie asked, scratching his stubbly-chin thoughtfully. 

"Yes, but I don't want to go to his house," Draco shook his head, pouting slightly. "It would be too weird." 

"Oh yeah?" 

Charlie was staring down at Draco, who was moving his feet back and forth across the floor. His arms were folded across his stomach, and his chin was down on his chest; he was sulking. He probably missed his mother (and father, Charlie thought), and now he was in Romania, countries away from wherever his manor was located, alone with nobody. 

"My father never changed his will before he went to Azkaban. The guy who is my godfather betrayed my father and so they haven't talked in a while. I get along fine with the man; it'd just be too weird to live with him," Draco paused, thinking, then said in a quieter voice: "I doubt he'd want me with him, anyway. Nobody does. I'm surprised you haven't kicked me out of here." 

"No," Charlie shook his head, and gently kicked Draco's feet. "You aren't going to start throwing this pity party shit in my presence. We'll figure something out. If worse comes to worse, you'll come home with me until we hear from your mother. Okay?" 

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I do not want to go to your .. _house_, if that's what you call it? I'll sleep in my father's tent here -" 

"For the next two months until school starts? You're underage, and you're in my custody now, unless you want me to contact the Ministry, but I doubt they'll believe your story about your mother just mysteriously disappearing." 

"You know what?!" Draco jumped to his feet, and stalked forward, his eyes flashing angrily. Charlie held his ground, and clenched his jaw. He was _not_ going to fight with a kid ten years younger than him. Especially Draco Malfoy; that was ridiculous. 

"What, Malfoy?" 

Draco stared at Charlie, his eyes narrowed, before stepping back again. "You're absolutely right, Weasley. I have nowhere to go aside from my godfather's place, but even then I don't think he's home, what with all the invasions that have been going on. No, this is the only place I could think of that would be relatively safe. Mors is here, and as far as I know, he's the only thing that will respect me anymore." 

The tent door opened, and a keeper stuck his head into the room. "Weasley, the babe is done up, your turn to give your scent to the ruddy thing," the man then looked at Draco. "Malfoy, is it? What're you doing here?" 

"Dorian, he's under my care for a few days until I can escort him to Diagon Alley," Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Don't question my personal business, either. I'll be out in a moment." 

The keeper, Dorian, glared a moment before turning and leaving the tent. Draco stared at the closed door before looking up at Charlie. "What was that about?" 

"What? Me lying for you? If word got out that you ran off, Aurors would be storming this place in an instant. Some of those guys have inappropriate things in their tents, so if they got caught, it'd be my fault. So, I lied to save their skins, not yours," Charlie answered, tying his shoes before stretching his arms. "Want to come with me, or stay in here?" 

Draco eyed Charlie. "What are you doing?" 

"Come with me and I'll explain it," Charlie opened the tent door for Draco, and together they both began walking across the camp to the brightly lit area where the baby dragon was sitting. "When baby dragons are born, all sorts of spells are put on it. When that's done, each keeper and watcher has it's scent given to the dragon, so that, while it grows, it recognizes the good guys from the bad, but while knowing who it's mother is. It comes in handy." 

"And will my scent be given to the dragon?" Draco asked; he remembered having to do that when he was six for Mors. 

"No, of course not, you don't work here. But, if the dragon looks at you, your face is imprinted into the dragon's memory, and will associate you with me and the other keepers and watchers, and will know that you are an ally," Charlie didn't add that he didn't completely believe Draco was an ally himself. 

They approached the table that the dragon was sitting, wrapped up in a blanket. It's eyes were drooping groggily, and it let out a small yawn and croak, dropping its head forward for a second. Charlie left Draco's side and bent down in front of the table, putting his finger under the dragon's chin, scratching it gently. 

"Hey cutie," Charlie said in a childish voice, and the dragon's eyes closed, enjoying the attention and scratching from Charlie. "Only a few more minutes and you can go back to your mother. Dorian?" 

Draco watched in fascination as Dorian came forward and whispered something Draco couldn't quite catch. A moment later, the scent of leather, cinnamon and faintly vanilla spread through the space around the table. Charlie had taken his hand away, and was now whispering under his breath, his eyes closed as he did so. The baby dragon's eyes were closed, and when he opened them, he stared at Charlie a long moment before turning his eyes to Draco. They held each other's gaze before the dragon let out another croak, snapping Charlie out of his daze. 

"Okay," Charlie stood up and stared down at the baby dragon before Dorian picked it up and began his decent back to it's mother. Draco watched for a moment before looking at Charlie (who was an inch or so taller). 

"That's it?" 

Charlie nodded. "That's it. Now, get back to your tent, and sleep. Tomorrow we'll decide what we're going to do with you, okay?" 

Draco narrowed his eyes, and his mouth opened slightly, as if to bitch at Charlie about telling him what to do, then closed his mouth. Charlie smiled, thinking about how smart Draco must've been; he would've been gone the moment he went too far out of line. 

With a quick good-night said, Charlie and Draco parted ways to their own tents, both collapsing on their separate beds and thinking of the days to come. Draco thinking of his parents, feeling torn apart at the thought of seeing neither of them again (and remembering the last thing he had yelled at his mother about; "_You don't give a shit, mother, about whether or not I'm happy! All you really care about is your fucking appearances with all of **father's** friends!_; she had slapped him across the mouth for his language). Charlie was thinking of his parents, as well, but more along the lines of how they and his brother's would react to having Draco Malfoy in their home. 

*****

The first thing Harry did when he woke up was roll over onto his side and begin retching. Liquid poured from his mouth as he gagged and spit up the foul tasting fluid, feeling his scar burn with every intake of breath. He coughed and choked on more liquid, trying to stop from vomiting up his entire stomach. Unaware of his surroundings (his bedroom didn't smell like this), Harry tried to open his eyes, but was met with a blinding light from the window beside his bed, and let out a small cry, throwing the blanket over his eyes. He pressed the balled up blanket to his mouth, soaking up the liquid he was coughing up. Fortunately, the rush was over and he was calming down; he probably had nothing left to throw up. 

The blanket was lowered, and he felt the cool frame of his glasses carefully placed on his face. A damp towel was placed on his forehead, and his whole body seemed to relax as a gentle hand began brushing his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes, glad to find the room was no longer bright, and his scar was only tingling. The person above him smiled gently, and Harry was relieved to see Tonks staring down at him. 

"How are you feeling?" Tonks asked kindly, and Harry could see how relieved she was. He started to rack his brain, trying to remember what had happened, and how he had come to be lying on a bed with Tonks next to him. 

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He exhaled and began coughing, his hands gripping at the blanket. His chest tightened and he sucked in another breath, gasping as he did so. 

"Poppy, he's not breathing well!" Tonks called, but remained seated where she was. Harry's eyes flew open and he opened his mouth again, trying to get more air into his lungs, failing miserably. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room and placed her hands on Harry's chest, keeping him from moving around too much. Tonks lowered her head and was whispering in Harry's ear, soothing him as the nurse began muttering a spell. Harry's chest began to fill itself with air, and even though his lungs and ribs were aching, he felt better. The towel on his forehead was removed and Tonks rubbed it on his face, clearing the sweat that had began to fall. Harry's body relaxed into the bed again, and within moments, he fell back into a restless sleep. 

*****

Remus entered Dumbledore's office, and was surprised (though he wasn't too surprised) to see Minister Fudge sitting on the opposite side of the Headmaster. Between them, strewn around the desk, were photos, and when Fudge moved forward to begin clearing the pictures from Remus's view, Dumbledore touched his hand, stopping him. He smiled gently at Remus as he stepped behind Fudge's back (and noticed with pleasure the man tensed up) and began to study the pictures. 

"Are these Harry?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. He saw Harry's face in one picture, his face swollen and bruised, his hair shaved off. 

"They are," Dumbledore nodded, and Remus swallowed thickly. There were more pictures; bruises along Harry's chest, indicating broken ribs. Remus felt sick; he could _see_ the broken ribs. 

"Albus, I don't think this werewolf -" 

"Now, Minister," Dumbledore smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes; he was as tired as Remus was, but there was much to do today; the full moon was tonight. "Harry is in his custody now that his family has been revoked of their duties. He has a right to look at the pictures if he wishes to." 

Remus stared at Dumbledore, confused. He hadn't known Harry was in his custody, but as he thought about it, it made sense. Harry's aunt and uncle were far from safe now (his uncle may be going to jail, anyway), and with Sirius dead, he was the only one that was really left for him to live with. Though, technically, Remus was living with everyone else; Harry would be everyone's responsibility. 

"You can put them away," Remus said, dropping his gaze to the floor and sitting down in a chair beside Fudge. He couldn't get the image of seeing all of Harry's ribs, and _seeing_ the two ribs that were broken. 

It reminded him of another teenager he'd recently known who was much like Harry, and it brought bitter feelings to Remus's attention. Though abuse was illegal in both wizarding and muggle communities, wizards got off charges most of the time, using the excuse of punishing children. If they were really wanting to hurt their kids, they could easily use magic. Muggles got in more trouble; and it looked that Vernon Dursley would be in deep shit. 

Minister Fudge finished collecting the photos, putting them in an envelope, and stood up. "I will bring these to the muggle judge and set up a trial date for the boy. He will be well enough for trial in a few days' time, correct?" 

"I'm afraid I do not know the answer to that, Cornelius. We will see," Dumbledore rose from his chair and walked with Fudge to the door of his office, both talking in low whispers. Unfortunately for them, Remus had excellent hearing, and he heard all that was said. 

"And the boy is going to live, right?" Fudge asked as they neared the door to the corridor. 

"He will, but his mental stability is questionable. This will be a hard thing to get over; losing both his godfather and suffering abuse is not something he needed." 

Remus folded his arms across his stomach and closed his eyes, leaning his head back, his face toward the ceiling. He sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled, thinking of all the times he'd been in this position before, seeing a kid going through abuse and trials. Watching his friend's father get shipped off to Azkaban where he later died. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Dumbledore staring at him, concerned. Remus dropped his arms and straightened up, but Dumbledore never took his hand from his shoulder. 

"What are you thinking?" the elderly headmaster asked, taking the vacated seat that Fudge had just been in. Remus shrugged, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and then checked his wrist watch. It was nine in the morning; he'd been up since around four, his body craving things he knew in his mind was sick. 

"About how many times I've been in this position in my life," Remus answered, then bit his bottom lip. He remembered the cut on Harry's lip, where his teeth must've sank in when he was suffering through his uncle's beatings. "I'm thinking about going back to my parent's house, too." 

Dumbledore nodded. "That would be good for you, and maybe you should take Harry with you. We have much to discuss now, about tonight and the living arrangements for Harry." 

Remus sat up and folded his legs Indian-style on the chair, and stretched his arms. He flexed his hand and fingers before looking over at Dumbledore. "Sir, I don't think it's a good idea for me to be Harry's guardian." 

This time, Dumbledore's smile reached his eyes, and he rested his hands on Remus's forearm. "Did you know Sirius granted you permission to be Harry's guardian if he died?" 

Before he could stop it from happening, Remus's eyes grew wide and both anger and panic flared up in his veins. He couldn't have kids himself, or else he'd have some because he loved kids. To be Harry's guardian (or godfather, whatever Sirius had appointed Remus) was something he'd never even thought of. 

"What about his aunt? Or Snape? Snape would be a good choice, Albus. He knows about abuse firsthand, and could help Harry a lot more than I obviously could. Couldn't you ask him?" He asked; he was, to say the least, unprepared to accept this guardianship. He was angry at Sirius, but at Dumbledore, too. Didn't anyone know how hard it was to look at Harry (especially now that he was bruised and beaten) and not feel some kind of hate for this boy? Sirius had put his life on the line for Harry and Harry was still alive. Remus was left alone, and for what? To baby-sit Harry, who was allowing people to die for him, but he was not willing to die for others? 

Dumbledore must've sensed the anger because he squeezed Remus's arm. "Don't be angry, Remus. None of this was meant to happen. If you can't be around Harry, that's perfectly fine. Mrs. Weasley will take him in without question. I wanted to tell you about it myself, because I really think you could help Harry. You know what it's like firsthand for a teenager to come from an abusive family and try to set things right. You have experience that Mrs. Weasley, or much of anyone, doesn't have." 

"Sirius died for Harry," Remus said, struggling to think of how to put his thoughts into complete sentences that made sense. "I can't look at Harry because I see James." 

"But Harry is not James, Remus. He is far from it." 

Remus nodded. "I know, Albus, I do know, I had to remind Sirius of that every day. But I see James, and I remember all the times he and I sat side by side in the hospital wing, or in St. Mungos, waiting to hear about Sirius's condition. I feel awful for Harry; no kid should be in the position they are in now. Of course everyone's going to throw themselves in front of danger to save a kid, much less the Boy-Who-Always-Bloody-Lives, but Albus, I can't hold the responsibility of being Harry's guardian." 

"Look at me," Dumbledore said, and when Remus moved his eyes (which had been locked on Fawkes, who was sleeping peacefully) to meet Dumbledore's gaze, he was surprised to see sympathy. "Harry doesn't need a guardian, and Sirius saw this. While he knew he owed James and Lily, needed to do everything to keep their son alive, he also knew that Harry wasn't normal." 

"No, he's got that bloody scar on his head." 

"Listen to you. You're acting like a child, Remus. I know you're upset and hurt because Sirius died saving Harry, but you were there too. We all were, and we all took that chance," Dumbledore's voice was calm and soft, holding no anger or frustration; only sympathy, and it made Remus guilty. "Harry was fighting for his own life up there. You had to hold him back from following Sirius into that archway, if you remember. He was absolutely crushed, and he still is. Remus," Dumbledore sighed, and Remus had to force himself to keep his eyes on the elderly man's face. "Harry is part of everyone's life. He needs who he has, just as you need who you have." 

"I have nobody," Remus shook his head. 

"No, you have Harry. You don't have to agree to be his guardian, but do not take your anger out on him. He's only sixteen, and has seen more war and death than you are aware of. And he cares about you, he really does," Dumbledore smiled softly, then sat back. "As for Harry's aunt, we cannot allow Harry back into that household. While she may have had nothing to do with the situation at hand, she allowed it to happen, and it's quite obvious that she had done this in the past." 

"He's malnourished," Remus watched as Dumbledore rose from the chair and walked around his desk, relaxing in his own seat across from Remus. "he always has been. I always figured he was like James in that sense." 

"James was thin, but not like Harry is," Dumbledore picked up the nearest piece of parchment and looked over the frame of his half-moon glasses, reading the script. "As for Severus, he will be busy with his own guardianship at a later date. We are still trying to sort that out. 

"The trial will be held in three days' time. Enough time to heal Harry's wounds and get him started in some sort of therapy, if that's what it has to come down to (Remus could feel his stomach drop; he didn't know Harry was bad enough to need therapy). In that time, the three Dursley's will have to explain the events as they saw them. You will need to give your view of the happenings, of course." 

Remus frowned across the desk, confused. "If it's a muggle trial, how could any of us explain to the jury and lawyers what had happened?" 

Dumbledore smiled at this. "I believe Minister Fudge is assembling his own jury, and having his own team of lawyers involved in this particular case." 

"If the courtroom will consist of witches and wizards, why not just hold a wizard trial?" 

"Ah, they are not witches and wizards. Squibs, mostly. It would be an unfair trial in Dursley's eyes if there were obvious witches and wizards holding it. He'd say that everyone was on Harry's side; we have to make it appear fair. As we know, however, wizard trial's hardly punish those who abuse children with only their hands. The real crime is using magic against their children who cannot defend themselves during the summer," Dumbledore let out a soft sigh. "Three days' time, Remus. Will you be up for that?" 

"Of course," Remus replied, taking in all that Dumbledore said. They were cheating the Dursley's out of a fair trial without their knowledge. In fact, the only people who would probably know about it being an unfair trial would be he, Dumbledore, and Minister Fudge (aside from the jury, naturally). "What about tonight, then? What do you need me for?" 

"Ah," Dumbledore leaned forward then, lacing his fingers together. "I need you to search the entire Forest tonight for anything unusual. I believe you know from your Hogwarts days what the forest should look like?" Remus nodded, a small blush finding its way onto his face. "I'm afraid Voldemort may have harmed some of my creatures in the forest, and it's much to dangerous for an elderly man like myself to venture in there alone," Dumbledore winked. 

"One problem, sir," Remus cleared his throat; he had to voice the thought that disgusted his mind but pleased his senses greatly. "I didn't take my wolfsbane potion, as you had ordered, and, well.." 

"Yes, yes, feeding, of course. Once you've fed, I'm to understand you can control your senses much better?" Remus nodded at this, feeling his body relax; Dumbledore knew what he was doing. "I will have food for you near Hagrid's hut tonight, then. Do you have any objections to any kind of meat?" 

"As long as it's not Hagrid himself, sir." 

Dumbledore's face lit up at this. 

*****

Mrs. Weasley let out a frustrated scream. The entire room - Snape, Moody, Ginny, Bill, Hermione, Fred, George, Ron, and as of this morning, Oliver Wood, looked up to see what the problem was. She was standing near the open window, holding a piece of parchment in her balled up fist. Her face was red in anger, and she was shaking her other hand at the owl that had delivered the letter. The owl, which belonged to Charlie, just hooted back at the shaking fist, blinking lazily. It had probably seen enough danger in its days to not be concerned about a measly fist. 

"What is it, mum?" Bill got up from the floor first, then the other kids (except for Hermione; she was still upset about her conversation with Remus the night before and was sitting in the corner of the living room, her legs pulled up to her chest with her arms clasped around her shins, and her chin resting on her knees), all asking the same question. 

Snape remained in his spot, on the other side of the room (close to Hermione's corner), leaning against the wall. His hands were laced in front of his stomach, and he had a deep scowl on his face, pretending not to care what Mrs. Weasley was so angry about. His hair had been neatly washed, combed, and pulled off his face, knotted behind his head with a hair tie, courtesy of the eldest Weasley child. His dress robe was a dark green and had splotches of dried blood, which looked black on the fabric, from when he carried Potter out of the Dursley household. He had yet to change from the clothes; he had gone to his chamber after his argument with Lupin, where he promptly destroyed half of his classroom, smashing desks and breaking jars against his blackboard. Then, Dumbledore, to his amazement, entered the room, sat down in a desk that hadn't been destroyed, and offered to play a game of Exploding Snap. 

Never refusing the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and always willing to please the elderly man, Snape had sat down and enjoyed (though he'd never admit it aloud) three games, losing every time to Dumbledore. Then, as if he had just remembered, Dumbledore told him he was needed at the Weasley's home, and that he would be staying there to keep an eye on Lupin. 

"To babysit?" Snape had asked, his tone bitter, but not at the headmaster. Bitter at himself for spilling too much to the werewolf, someone who was not meant to be trusted. 

"I'm concerned about his well-being, Severus. I do not want to make this situation we are in any worse than it already is." 

So, here he was, standing beside a pouting Hermione Granger (Snape had to admit that seeing the Gryffindor so detached and upset-looking was unnerving), watching Mrs. Weasley as her fist shook in anger. Lupin had left before he had finished bathing, which meant he left at around seven, probably to Hogwarts to see Potter. 

_Saint Potter_, Snape thought, then dismissed the thought. Draco Malfoy used the term loosely when he described the raven-haired boy (_Who is now bald_, Snape smirked to himself, then hid the pleased look, keeping his expression as emotionless as possible). Of course, he himself was distraught about the situation; everything he had said to Lupin the day before he meant. He really did feel awful for the boy, but couldn't do anything about it. 

Across the room from Snape, on the couch, Moody grunted, reading through the day's copy of _The Daily Prophet_. The article on the front page, as Snape had already read through it, was some crap about Voldemort assembling an army in northern Canada for the past week. There were two things wrong with that: One, why would Voldemort be there if he had just been at Hogwarts; and two, why would he have Canadian's in his army? It just didn't add up. 

"Draco Malfoy is coming into _this_ house," Mrs. Weasley spat out, crumpling up the letter in her hand. Snape's head snapped up and he stared, disbelieving, at the woman. She had to be wrong; Malfoy, in a Weasley's home? Absurd. 

"_What_?!" Fred, George and Ron all asked at once, their faces slack of any emotion. Then, Ron's face reddened in anger and he turned to the nearest thing - a vase from his auntie from his father's side - and threw it against the wall. Mrs. Weasley barely registered that it had shattered; she was beyond angry. 

"When?" asked Oliver Wood, who had shown up in the morning, after Fred and George had called for him for whatever reasons they held. He had his hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, as if to keep her from attacking anybody. 

"In a few days' time. It says that Bill and Remus," Mrs. Weasley looked over at her son and shot him a glare, and he recoiled slightly (and Snape didn't blame him; he had pity for the children), "are to pick him up via PORTKEY, and since this Malfoy kid has apparently just shown up without his mother, we are to keep him until he is able to live with family." 

Snape winced. Draco was obviously in trouble if he'd run to Charlie Weasley for help. 

"If I may add some insight?" He asked, stepping forward toward the group. The six Weasley's looked up and stared at him expectantly. Snape folded his arms and stood somewhat rigidly, as if he were uneasy standing in front of them. "Draco owns a dragon that I believe your son watches in his campsite. If anything, Draco ran away from home to see his pet, as his mother is terrified of losing her son as well. I suggest writing your son back and telling him to send Draco home immediately, I could only imagine how distraught she must be." 

"Malfoy has a _dragon_?" Ron asked, and breathed out heavily. "Bloody prat!" 

"I'm afraid there's a problem with that theory, " Mrs. Weasley said, ignoring her son and looking directly at Snape. "Charlie says that Draco's mother disappeared, and Draco himself is mortified of being alone in his own house. Therefore, he ran to the only place he felt safest. They'll be here in a few days, so Fred, George, Oliver and Ginny, would you so kindly go and clean up a spare room?" She asked, and the three Weasley's began to whine, but were shut up immediately by a glare, and the four made their way up the stairs slowly. "Ron, would you and Hermione like to go to Diagon Alley for a few hours and do some shopping for me?" 

"Could I get something for Harry?" Ron asked, and at hearing her name, Hermione snapped out of her thoughts, her eyes watery. 

"Of course dear, of course. I'm to believe that you and Hermione will be able to go to Hogwarts later this evening and visit Harry, though I'm not sure if he'll be awake yet," Mrs. Weasley said over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen and began rummaging around, looking for her shopping list and sack of galleons and knuts. "Be back in three hours." 

Ron nodded and, after helping Hermione to a standing position and asking her more than once if she was _sure_ she was okay, they threw Floo Powder into the fireplace and both yelled 'Diagon Alley!'. 

When they were gone and there were only adults left in the room, Mrs. Weasley turned to Snape and Moody with her hands on her hips, ignoring Bill altogether. "Draco says he thinks his mother was killed." 

Snape's heart began thudding in his chest, and the next person who spoke voiced his thoughts: "Why would he think such a thing?" 

"Well," Mrs. Weasley reached in her pocket and pulled out the letter that Charlie had written her. "Charlie was told that Draco and his mother had been receiving all kinds of threats, and they weren't heeded. Yesterday morning, Mrs. Malfoy turned up missing, and Draco set free all his house-elves and ran off himself." 

Snape exhaled; he had been waiting for this day for sixteen years, and he wasn't thrilled in the least about it. 

"Shouldn't someone go and retrieve them?" Moody asked, his magical eye moving to the back of his head, looking at the wall behind him, making sure nobody was sneaking up on him. 

"I am, with Remus the day after tomorrow," Bill replied somewhat smugly (or so Snape thought), his arms folded across his chest. "When's Harry's trial?" 

All eyes turned to Snape, and he was once again rigid. "In three days." 

"So that gives us, what, a day to prepare for how many people staying with us?" Mrs. Weasley asked, and began racking her brain, trying to decide if there was enough room in her household for so many people. 

"No need, Molly," Snape said, shaking his head. "I will be gone by tonight, and I'm to believe that Potter will be staying with Lupin the remainder of the summer. Malfoy will likely come back with me after we sort out the whereabouts of his mother. Tonks and the other members of the Order - and do tell me if I'm wrong, Moody - are to be relocated by tonight." 

"Right," Moody grunted, and got up off the couch. "Dumbledore says the wards are stabilized again, and at the moment, most of the new members of the Order are at our current Headquarters. Hogwarts is our new Headquarters as of tomorrow morning, though I'm beginning to find a flaw in that plan." 

A thick silence hung in the air; everyone had been thinking that as well. If their new headquarters was Hogwarts, that could only be for the remainder of the summer. As of September first, they wouldn't be able to stay at the school, considering how many students will be returning - if any. 

"That's settled, then," Mrs. Weasley said, a look of relief over her face. "Draco will stay with us until Dumbledore arrives and we can discuss the situation. Now," she smiled at this, something she rarely ever did these days, and clapped her hands. "You three hardly ate breakfast. Would you like something else to eat?" 

"I should get back to the school," Snape said, shaking his head and making his way to the fireplace. "Thanks for asking, anyway." 

Moments later, the only sounds heard downstairs were the scraping of cutlery against plates as Bill, Moody and Mrs. Weasley ate their second helpings of breakfast. 

*****


	4. 04

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either. 

Draco might be a bit OOC, but then again, he loves dragons, so it won't be THAT OOC, right? Once again, JKR has failed to give us insight on the best character.. 

**RE-READ CHAPTER THREE IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT ALREADY. IT'S RE-POSTED AND IT'S THE _CORRECT_ VERSION!**

*****

Leaning against the post of the pen, Draco reached his hands out to his dragon, despite the keepers and watchers on duty yelling at him a few minutes prior, telling him _not_ to do this. Mors, being on the other side of the pen, nearly fifty feet away, didn't notice him, but that didn't stop Draco. Charlie said he could see his dragon; he even said that he might be able to get him in there for a few minutes before feeding so he could pet his legs, and maybe, if Mors allowed it, his head. 

At the moment, Charlie was in the nearest tent with some girl, making lunch for the three of them. At having been shoo-ed from the tent by the girl (introduced to Draco as 'the lovely Eve', but he called her 'Evie' when talking to her directly), Draco had found himself wandering the campsite. He was amazed, and because of this, lost in thought and wonder as he watched the dragons around him stretch their wings. The baby dragon that had been born the day before, Neith, was now in the nearest corner to the campsite in their tent, the baby cuddling against her mother. 

Sure, he felt childish, standing up on the first pole of the fence, leaning over it and sticking his arms out, calling for Mors, but he didn't care. He had waited for a year to see his dragon, and, in his opinion, fuck all the others who were telling him it wasn't a good idea. It's not like the dragons in this campsite were dangerous; Charlie had explained everything about the camp this morning over breakfast. 

"Hey, kid, I ain't gonna tell you again," Dorian said as he passed Draco, who was making kissy noises trying to get Mors's attention. "I don't give a crap who you are either, boy. You get off that pen and go run to your babysitter." 

Draco slowly got off the fence and stared at Dorian in shock. "I'll have you know, _guy_, that I'm sixteen years old, and I've seen more in the past five years than you will ever since in your pathetic life. I need no babysitter. You, on the other hand, may consider the suggestion, because, uh," Draco's eyes traveled down to the bulge in his pants. "I'm sorry to say that your package is trying to say hello." 

Dorian didn't look down. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, trying to stop from his face turning red, and stomped away to his tent. Draco smirked and turned back to the pen, and saw Mors yawn and stretch his massive wings, then lay down and rest his head against the invisible ward that kept the dragons from escaping. If he had half a mind, Draco would've stayed where he was; but a Malfoy rarely heeded a rule or law if it interfered with the original plan and idea. 

Making sure nobody was looking, Draco hopped over the fence, his boots (well, Charlie's old dragon-hide boots that Draco had admired all morning until Charlie asked if he wanted them; Draco would never admit he got them second hand, they were just until he got his own) crunching against the nearly-dead grass. Making sure his wand was in close-proximity to his hand, he checked over his shoulder, looking for any keepers or watchers. There was a ten minute grace-period for the keepers and watchers to change posts with the ones who have waken up recently (as Charlie had also told him; Draco had a feeling Charlie was almost daring him to go into the pen), and that was to start any minute. There were only a few keepers out of their tents, eating their sandwiches and allowing their eyes to sweep the campsite, admiring their dragons. 

Draco bit his bottom lip, something he did when he was nervous and rarely even noticed he had done it in the first place, and made his way around the tent, inching toward the nearest dragon to hide behind until nobody was outside. As he got closer to the nearest dragon (it was relatively small compared to the others, so it could only be a few years old), he could hear its breathing. It stared at Draco curiously, its big eyes blinking slowly, a small wisp of white smoke coming out of its nostrils. Draco stared back at it, amazed at the beautiful creature. It was green with lines of gold and silver throughout its wings and body. A black ring circled one of its brown (or black?) eyes. Slowly, it bared its white teeth, which were the length of Draco's head (he could feel his pulse quicken slightly at realizing this), but otherwise made no move to attack him. 

It lowered its wings, folding them over each other on its back, and lowered its head, all the while keeping its eyes on Draco's. It's tail thumped the ground, vibrating the earth beneath Draco's feet, making his body slightly rumble. Then a smile appeared on Draco's face, realizing what it was doing. It was accepting his being there. 

"I think she likes you," someone whispered in Draco's ear, and he nearly fell over, surprised by the voice. The person laughed as Draco composed himself and set a scowl on his face, trying to calm himself down. "It's just me." 

Handing out a pair of gloves to Draco, Charlie grinned, nodding at the dragon. "Isis is very open about her emotions. She likes almost anyone that comes in here. Put on the gloves and go ahead and pet her." 

The gloves, which were also dragon-hide, shrunk to fit Draco's thin hands when he put them on. Glancing at Charlie to make sure it was okay (it was) Draco walked forward, keeping eye contact with Isis as he did so. Slowly, he reached out and pet her stomach. She sighed as he touched his other hand to her back, and began carefully petting her. A smile appeared on Draco's face, watching the dragon close her eyes, apparently relaxed. He put his hands on her stomach as he pet her slowly, feeling the rough scales move as she breathed. For a few minutes he did this, completely amazed as he watched the beautiful creature move under his hands. 

"Come on in for lunch and we'll come back out so you can see Mors," Charlie said after a minute, and Draco nodded, taking a step back. His hands tingled from running his hands over the rough scales of Isis's body, and couldn't help but grin at Charlie, like a little kid in a candy store. 

"How old is she?" he asked as they made their way back to the tent, stepping over the fence and wards, ignoring the glares from the other keepers and watchers. Dorian stood at the front of his tent that was beside Eve's, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face set into a scowl. 

Draco winked at him and he stormed off into his tent. 

"She's three years old," Charlie answered, and grinned more. "We believe Mors is her father because the other dragon died a few years ago was too old." 

Draco's pulse quickened at his and he couldn't help but smile more. 

Inside Eve's tent, grilled-cheese sandwiches and bowls of tomato soup were set out on the table. Eve, who was about 5'5, with big blue eyes and jet black hair, smiled at the two of them. 

"Take as much as you want," Eve said to Draco, and he nodded and sat down, facing the doorway of the tent, where he kept his eyes as he began eating a sandwich. Charlie sat at the head of the table, and Eve sat on the other end, so that they were facing each other, with Draco in the middle. After a minute, Eve began talking again. "So, Draco, what brings you over here to Romania?" 

Draco never took his eyes off the doorway. "I missed my dragon and I wanted to see him." 

Having read the articles about Lucius Malfoy being in Azkaban, Eve refrained from asking the obvious question of 'alone?'. Instead, she sipped some of her soup from the spoon and placed it back in the bowl. "Has Charlie taken you out to see him yet?" 

"No," Draco said, then took another bite of his sandwich. "He's taking me out after lunch." 

"He was just out in the pen with Isis," Charlie nodded toward the door, drinking the last of his soup and picking up another sandwich (his second), taking a bite of it. 

"Alone?" Eve asked, somewhat concerned, and both Charlie and Draco nodded their reply, both of their mouth's full of food. "That's dangerous." 

Before Draco or Charlie could answer this, there were sounds of cracking and popping, and then people began yelling, screaming at each other. Charlie's eyes widened, as did Eve's, and the two adults jumped up, dropping their food. Charlie reached for Draco and said: "There's a door underneath the bed. Give me your wand and crawl under there and hide in the room underneath us. Whoever it is can't penetrate the wards of that room without a password of sorts." 

"No! What's happening?!" Draco asked, backing off from Charlie, his wand in his hand. 

"DAMMIT MALFOY GIVE ME YOUR BLOODY WAND!" Charlie screamed at him as Eve peered out the doorway, looking back at Charlie with terrified eyes. 

Draco didn't listen to Charlie; he began to walk forward as Eve jumped outside. Charlie turned anger and scared eyes on Draco, as more screams were heard throughout the campsite. A second later, a flash of red flew threw the doorway of the tent, struck Draco in the stomach, causing his hand to let go of the wand and his body to crumple to the floor, his head hitting the table as he fell. 

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Charlie grabbing his wand and the dagger, and the last thing he heard was a terrified scream outside the tent where he could hear the dragons roaring, stomping on the ground, shaking the tent as they did so. 

*****

Ron and Hermione had been walking around Diagon Alley for the past half an hour, doing absolutely nothing. They had finished Mrs. Weasley's shopping within twenty minutes, as most of the things she needed were in one area. Neither of them had said much to each other, and Hermione hadn't even told Ron off when he made a rude gesture at an almost familiar-looking soon-to-be second year Slytherin. When they passed a book store, where there was a huge sale going on, Hermione didn't even look twice. She continued right past it, and Ron slowed down, staring at her back with a confused expression. 

Right now they were heading toward the quidditch supply store, determined to buy Harry something to take to him tonight to make him feel better. All Ron and Hermione knew (or maybe Hermione knew more, and that's why she was acting the way she was) was that Harry had gotten a concussion. Neither knew exactly how he'd managed a concussion, but that was the least of their worries at the moment. He was going to be okay, and that was all that mattered. Ron's worries were on Hermione, and why she was acting the way she was. 

"Good afternoon," the store-clerk said as Ron and Hermione entered the store, finding it warm. It was quite cold outside today. "Nasty weather we're having." 

"Yeah," Ron nodded in agreement before taking off to look at the actual supplies, rather than the bookshelves, where Hermione was standing and idly staring. 

By the quidditch supplies, Ron was touching a cleaning case gingerly. He knew Harry had one of these already, but he must've been running out soon. Ron himself didn't have one, so maybe when he was done shopping for Harry, he could buy it for himself. That's to say if he finds anything for Harry, he thought with a sigh. It was somewhat hard to shop for him, best friend or not. For a while, Ron just figured if he himself would like it, so would Harry, but they were different people, and always have been. 

And Harry, if Ron remembered correctly (he picked up a bottle of Snitch cleaner), was avoiding him at the end of the year, depressed and lying because of Sirius's death. Ron had never been in the position Harry was in. The closest he was to that had been losing his brother, Percy; but he wasn't close to Percy, not at all. Ron had spent the previous summer living with Sirius, and he heard Sirius every night arguing and begging anyone who would sympathize and listen to bring Harry 'home'. Sirius really loved Harry, and Ron had a feeling that neither had expressed their feelings before Sirius died. 

No, Ron shook his head as he picked at other bottles on the shelves, mostly for keeping bludgers and quaffles nice. Harry knew Sirius cared for him more than anything, but Ron also knew that Harry wouldn't believe it unless he heard it from his godfather's own lips. 

"Ron?" Hermione asked quietly behind Ron, who had moved onto the uniform equipment section. Ron looked up at her, his fingers tracing the gloves hanging on a hook. "I don't feel right." 

She was pale and her eyes were wide with, what, terror? She was holding her stomach with her hands, and she kept breathing in deeply, as if trying to keep her breakfast down. 

"Are you sick?" Ron bit his lip and moved his hand to touch the side of Hermione's face, checking for a fever. Hermione shrugged a little bit, then dropped her gaze to the floor. 

"Something isn't right. I can feel it," she whispered, and a tear fell from her eye and landed on the carpet in between her feet and Ron's. Furrowing his brow, Ron stepped closer, closing the gap in between the two of them, and touched Hermione's chin. His pulse quickened, but it wasn't because he was so close to her. When he touched her, he could feel what she meant; a sickening feeling at the pit of your stomach that was cold, but not in the way of being sick. 

"Is this what's been wrong?" Ron brushed a tear that fell down her cheek, and she blinked back more tears, shaking her head. "Then what has?" 

"Lupin said last night that -" 

Hermione's mouth closed, cutting off the rest of her sentence. Ron's fingers were still on her cheek, and he let out a startled gasp, feeling his fingers and hand begin to numb. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder for support, letting out a sob before she broke down into tears. The store clerk was nowhere to be seen; Ron vaguely remembered seeing him walk into the back of his store a moment before. Both of Hermione's hands clutched at Ron, and she began to sink to her knees, sobbing more and hiccoughing, burying her face in Ron's robes. He slowly brought her down onto the floor, holding her on his lap, dread filling him. 

His arms and legs began to turn cold, but he only held Hermione closer, hoping to warm her. She let out another choking sob, and this time, the store clerk re-entered the floor area, looking around for the source of the crying. His eyes landed on Ron and Hermione just as screaming broke out in Diagon Alley. Instinct, or maybe just fear, told Ron to hide, and that's just what he did. 

"Get up, Hermione, get up, get up," he said over and over, pulling her to her feet. He helped her stumble across the room, where the store clerk was waving them. 

"In here, you can cover in here," the man told them before shutting them in the room. Ron glanced around; it was the storage room, and in the very back of the room, in the corner, was a door. 

"Over there," Ron breathed, and began dragging Hermione, his arm around her waist. She obliged, following behind him, calming down her nerves and wiping at her eyes furiously. Suddenly, her wand was out and she was looking back at the door they had entered from; there were crashing sounds coming from the floor area just outside the door. "In here," Ron opened the door (a closet) and shoved her in. The door on the other side of the room, from the main store area burst open and Ron threw himself over Hermione, throwing the door shut. 

Hermione whispered something and her wand emitted gold wisps with silver sparks. A second later, there was banging on the door, and the lock was being rustled. Ron moved Hermione onto his lap, pulling her as close to him as he could while moving into the very corner of the closet (there were tons of empty boxes and it was hard to move as it was). Hermione whimpered quietly, and she turned, burying her face into Ron's chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, and she clutched him. A moment later, she whispered: "I'm thinking I was right." 

Ron let out a strangled sob/laugh, and ran his hand through Hermione's hair. How many times he wanted to be in this position, but this wasn't quite as he'd imagined it. 

The lock stopped rustling, and then the people on the other side of the door began yelling something to each other. Ron was holding his breath, listening carefully, and he knew Hermione was doing the same. Both of their wands were out, but they didn't need them. A person on the other side of the door said something about not caring about the 'stupid kids', and the people retreated, but Ron wasn't about to go out there. 

Hermione shifted in Ron's lap, so that her right shoulder was leaning into Ron's chest, and her head was resting on Ron's shoulder. She was trying to keep herself from crying anymore than she had, and Ron was glad; he didn't think he'd be able to handle it. 

Neither spoke a word for the next hour, in which they listened carefully for anyone in the storage room, afraid for each other's lives. 

*****

Harry drank the water that was offered to him greedily, not even stopping when he began to choke on it. Dumbledore pulled the glass back, allowing Harry to calm down, before giving the glass back. This time, Harry slowly drank the water until it was empty, and he held it back to Dumbledore, collapsing against the propped-up pillows, closing his eyes. He sighed, his chest rising without the restriction of his broken ribs; Madam Pomfrey had fixed that while he had been sleeping. 

"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked after a moment of admiring Harry, his head tilted to the side and his blue eyes holding no emotion as he focused on Harry. 

"Tired," Harry answered, then opened his eyes quickly, as if remembering something. "Professor, I saw Voldemort." 

"Did you?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, slightly alarmed. "When was this?" 

"The other day when I was at the Dursley's. I was lying on my bed, and I saw him. He slaughtered all of the centaurs, and some of the giant spiders and a unicorn. He could've gotten at more but I didn't see," Harry said all this quickly, in one breath, and he paused to suck in more breath. 

Dumbledore's face fell; there was no point in trying to hide it. "Did any survive?" 

Harry nodded, licking his lips. His eyes were dark with anger. "Bane went to his side." 

"Is that all?" 

"Yes." 

Dumbledore rose from his chair; he had to tell Remus before he went out into the forest. "Thank you, Harry." 

"Where are you going?" Harry tried to sit up, throwing his legs over the bed onto the floor, trying to stand up to follow Dumbledore. He was almost standing when his head began to ache and his scar burned, and he sat back down. 

"I have to tell some people what you have just told me. Don't worry, I'll come back and we can talk more," Dumbledore smiled, patted Harry's shoulder (and was amused to see that Harry's raven hair had grown completely back since the last time he had seen the boy the day before) and swept out of the Hospital Wing. 

Harry laid back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, which had been enchanted (probably for his own pleasure) to look like the sky at a quidditch game that was going on. Once in a while a player or ball would fly past the ceiling, and Harry felt his pulse race, thinking for a split second that maybe the players could see him. 

His body was tired and ached, but he didn't want to sleep. Once more he'd be plagued with nightmares, and there wasn't anyone around he could ask for a sleeping draught. Madam Pomfrey would be back in a moment with food from the kitchen (she nearly lost it when Harry told her he hadn't eaten even half a meal in maybe a week) and she'd give him one without his asking. Harry thought back to the day before (had it only been the day before?) when his uncle got so furious he.. 

Harry rolled over, tearing his eyes from the empty sky, and stared at the window beside his bed. It was getting dark, and he could see Hagrid tying something up by his hut; it looked like a cow or cattle of some kind, but Harry wasn't too sure, it was too far off. He vaguely wondered what it was for, then decided he didn't care. Nothing evil could get through the wards, so whatever the cattle was for was Hagrid's own business. Just to be sure, though, Harry was going to ask him when he came up to visit him. 

Which brought more thinking to Harry. How many people had seen him like this? No doubt Snape had; Harry had seen him coming into the room at one point when he woke up for a moment. Tonks, of course, had been by his side a few times when Harry woke up. Those were the only people, aside from Dumbledore and Pomfrey, who had seen him, as far as Harry knew. His friend's hadn't seen him like that, he hoped, pulling the blanket up to his chin and closing his eyes, pretending to be asleep as Madam Pomfrey bustled in. If Ron and Hermione had seen him, or even knew his uncle had hit him, they'd definitely treat him differently. It was bad enough people were sending cautious letters and talking to him and around him carefully because they were afraid he'd break; he didn't need _more_ of that. 

"Get up," Madam Pomfrey ordered, and when Harry didn't open his eyes, she swatted his shoulder. "I know you're faking it, Mr. Potter. You forget that I am a nurse and therefore see more kids feigning sleep and illness than really being ill. Get up and eat this." 

"I'm not hungry," Harry muttered, but didn't open his eyes. If he kept them closed, maybe Madam Pomfrey would just leave him alone. It was obvious he wanted to be left alone, wasn't it? Didn't he want to be alone? 

"Oh, of course you aren't," she said sarcastically, and Harry began to smell barbeque. Despite himself, his mouth watered and he opened his eyes. Madam Pomfrey was holding the tray beside his head so the smell would taunt Harry. "Eat it and you can leave sooner than you know." 

"I can leave today?" Harry asked, but he wasn't too thrilled. He was going to be sent off to tons of different places this summer, he knew it. Dumbledore had told him about living with Remus, but Remus was living in three different homes at the moment; The Burrow, Grimmauld Place, and here at Hogwarts. 

Pomfrey fixed his pillows so he was sitting upright comfortably, then moved the tray onto a table that went over his lap. She handed him cutlery and frowned at him. "You put down more than a few meals a day and we'll see." 

"Oh," Harry creased his brow and shoved his fork into a piece of barbequed chicken, but didn't make a move to eat it. Instead, he waited for Pomfrey to leave, but rather than leave, she sat down in the chair beside his bed and pulled out _The Evening Prophet_. 

"Eat," she said, looking over the newspaper, her eyes menacing. Harry dropped his gaze to his plate again but didn't move otherwise. She sighed loudly and leaned forward, folding the paper into her lap. "Mr. Potter, did you starve yourself?" 

Harry could lie, but he was awful at lying, so she'd know the truth anyway. "Kind of," he answered truthfully. When she raised her eyebrows in curiosity, Harry licked his lips and fought hard for words to explain. "Aunt Petunia didn't really cook because my cousin Dudley was at camp. She only cooked if my uncle asked her to, and so if I wanted to eat I had to make it myself. She always reminded me to make, and sometimes she'd help me because she wanted to make Tonks and Moody happy," Harry licked his lips again; he hadn't forgotten Lupin, he just couldn't bring himself to talk about him. "So a lot of the time I just didn't want to cook." 

"So you were being careless and lazy by not eating?" 

"I -" 

"My apologies, Harry, but Madam Pomfrey, could you come here a moment?" A voice interrupted what Harry was going to say, much to Harry's relief. 

In the doorway, staring at them with wide eyes, was Charlie Weasley. In his arms, to Harry's amazement (or maybe a bit of amusement, he couldn't fully decide) was Draco Malfoy, unconscious and bleeding from the side of the temple. 

*****

It was after dark and Remus had fed the hungry, monstrous part of his lycanthrope. The dead cow was long behind him, but the scent of blood was overpowering in the Forest. He had only been in form an hour, and in the Forest for forty minutes, due to his feeding and changing. 

At the moment, his nose was to the ground, and he was sniffing, though he didn't know what he was supposed to be trying to find. The scent of wrong-doing, or something horribly stupid, as Tonks had tried to explained. Dumbledore had told him about what Harry had seen, but also said that it could have been another trap, so Remus had to be careful. Currently, Remus was being as careful as a werewolf could be, but the scent of blood made him lean toward Harry's story. Something had been slaughtered here, and the deeper he got into the forest, the closer he got to the carnage, and the stronger the scent. His cravings for blood was reduced greatly because of his supper, but it wasn't fully gone. Saliva dripped from his jaw, and he licked his chops every few feet, getting closer. 

Hagrid had been nominated to go with Remus, but since he was half-giant and therefore, huge, it was hard for him to keep up. No animal would go up to Hagrid in this forest; he had never done anything wrong. No animal would go toward a werewolf, either, though wereanimals were common in the heart of the forest, which was where Remus was going. Remus had no idea where the people lived when it wasn't a full moon, but he decided long ago, when he was twelve, that he didn't give a crap. It was their lives, and their identities were secret if they were among their own in the forest on the full moon. Only occasionally had Remus run into them; he usually went to the Shrieking Shack, but the past few months he'd only been able to stay on the grounds of Hogwarts. 

Up ahead, Remus heard a faint growl, and then a louder howl. There was a cry, like a leopard being attacked, and Remus froze, his jaw clenching as he listened. His ears were standing upright as he listened hard. A wereleopard was a rare creature, but it had to be, because leopards didn't live in this forest. But here it was, a rare and probably beautiful creature it was (Remus had only seen one once, and it was in the dark, many years ago, when he was seventeen, his last prowl around the forest before he graduated), being attacked by something. 

Behind him, Hagrid was moving as silently as any human Remus had heard, and he was glad for it, for the other regular (are there such a thing as a 'regular' magical creature?) animals would have a harder time hearing him than the wereanimals would. Remus heard him perfectly, grunting quietly as he stepped over fallen trees and the such. Hagrid was breathing heavily, too, but his cross-bow was steady on his shoulder, preparing himself for an attack, though Remus would put himself in front of Hagrid before they had to resort to the cross-bow. The tip of the arrow had been covered in liquid silver which then hardened, and it made Remus a little nervous to be ahead of the silver-tipped arrow, but he knew Hagrid wouldn't shoot him. 

The wereleopard was now whimpering, and Remus inched forward, his body close to the ground. He heard Hagrid curse and move off the trail, hiding, but keeping the crossbow trained on Remus. Whatever was out there would attack Remus first, if things got came to that. 

Remus stepped into a clearing a few yards from where he had heard the wereleopard. He was showing his teeth, a low growl in his throat, as he found what he had feared. Ahead of him, where there were the dead carcasses of the centaurs, unicorns and spiders, was a pack of about thirteen werewolves. Near Remus was the injured wereleopard, staring at Remus, licking its paws and arms, washing away the blood that was dripping from cuts along its body. Even in the dark, Remus could see the saliva and blood dripping from its mouth. He also saw its cuts were healing quickly. Remus had no idea where the faint light was coming from - somewhere east of him - but it wasn't bothering him. Not at the moment, even if light had never seen this part of the forest. 

The pack of werewolves were scattering, now, toward other dead centaurs, enjoying their feast. They either didn't hear Remus, or didn't care of his presence. Usually, they'd kill any outsider, but apparently this pack didn't mind the wereleopard, so it probably wouldn't mind him. But Remus wasn't here to make friends, he was here to find anything out that'd be useful for Dumbledore and Minister Fudge. 

One of the werewolves, presumable the alpha, threw its head back and howled, and the pack followed his example. What Remus assumed was the omega, sitting by the trees, away from the pack, watched as they moved in together and set their eyes on the wereleopard. As a pack, it moved (the omega took this opportunity to find the nearest dead animal and eat it) closer to the injured animal, not even looking at Remus. Hagrid moved silently to position the crossbow at the alpha, his head bent and his right eye closed as he focused the tip of the arrow. 

Remus moved closer to the wereleopard, as it got to its feet and let out a screech, backing up. The alpha growled, and the pack followed suit, snapping their teeth at the injured leopard. Remus had never seen anything like this before, and he'd been a werewolf for thirty years. He'd heard of packs, but in the forest, there weren't packs. There were pairs, and groups of three or four that hunted together, but not thirteen werewolves in an actual pack, with an alpha and an omega. And never had one wereanimal attack another, never in the forest. Either he'd been away from the forest too long to have been present when the pack came together, or this was a new development. The leopard was terrified, Remus could smell it as it was pushed against the tree. It could run, it was probably much faster than the wolves, but it was too injured to go. 

Attacking them would be bad. It would be thirteen (fourteen if the omega wanted to prove itself a worthy fight and attacked as well) against one werewolf and one half-giant with a few silver-tipped arrows. The wereleopard would probably limp off during the fight, leaving Remus alone. No, he wouldn't get out alive, and he was definitely not here to make friends. 

Remus backed into the trees, but the wolves didn't seem to hear him; they were too involved in the stare-down with the leopard. He stared out, hidden behind the leaves and in the dark, staring at what was happening. The leopard had to deal with this itself. Remus wasn't here to save it, no, not at all. Death was part of life, right? 

So why was he feeling guilty about watching this leopard stare death in the face? 

The answer was simple. The leopard was also human. Humans cannot die like this, wereleopard or not. 

Hagrid shot the arrow across the clearing, the arrow hitting a tree a few hundred yards off. The werewolves looked up then, their ears pricking, listening for any sound. Hagrid stopped breathing altogether, watching with careful eyes. Nobody moved, much less breathed, before the wolves dispersed and began sniffing around for what had sent the arrow. Remus backed up, his hind legs carefully stepping over fallen branches and tree stumps, his eyes locked on the pack. Nobody was near he or Hagrid, but he had to make sure. The wereleopard took this opportunity to get the hell away from the clearing, and the wolves let it. 

A moment later, however, the pack stopped again, listening carefully. Then, a centaur walked out of the clearing, holding up a rapier, the blade at least fifty inches long, maybe longer. It was a lovely piece of weaponry, and Remus knew Hagrid was staring at it with the same thoughts. It was too dark to see anything else, but it didn't matter, not at the moment. 

The centaur spoke then, yelling something at the wolves about being off on their way, leaving the grounds at once. What surprised Remus was the wolves' reactions. They sat, staring up at the centaur with respect before listening to what he said and followed their alpha out of the clearing, in the direction of the tree with the arrow in it. The centaur turned its head, looking around, before walking straight for Remus, his eyes right on him, as if looking through the tree he was crouching next to, hidden in the bushes. 

"Werewolf, you disgust me!" the centaur said to Remus, narrowing his eyes, raising the sword as high as it would go. The light from the east glinted off the long blade, and if Remus had half a mind, he'd run; the sword was pure silver. That's why the wolves had obeyed; the silver startled them. Remus couldn't leave Hagrid behind though, not for this centaur to attack. "Stepping foot upon the dirt where my comrades hath fallen!" 

The sword flew down, right beside Remus's bent body, cutting the bushes without strain. The centaur reared back, holding the sword high in the air. 

"YOU WILL DIE AS THEY DID!" the centaur screamed, and just as Remus jumped back, turning to run, the blade sunk into his side, and he let out a long, pathetic howl. 

The centaur howled, screaming, as well, the blade forgotten in Remus's side. Remus howled again, longer this time, as he felt the flesh around the cut burn like acid. He heard Hagrid yelling at the centaur, calling him Bane, and shooting his crossbow. He heard the leopard screeching and attacking something, as well. 

And then he heard nothing. 

*****

Chapter info: 

-A rapier is a type of sword, very fancy, used in fencing, I believe. Will post a picture of the one I'm using next chapter or whenever I use it again. ^_^ 

-Isis and Neith (the dragons) are Goddesses in mythology. I like those names. 

-Simultaneous attacks in Romania and Diagon Alley are crucial, as is the one in the forest with Remy. *nods* 

-Hermione's illness will be crucial. 

-Chapter titles (I've forgot to mention) are lines from a poem I found online. It fit in with the story somewhat so I chose it; forgive me 

I think that first scene with Dray reaching into the pen would be the cutest picture. Gah, I wish I could draw. 


	5. 05

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either. 

Draco might be a bit OOC, but then again, he loves dragons, so it won't be THAT OOC, right? Once again, JKR has failed to give us insight on the best character.. 

*****

Harry watched with some form of sympathy as Draco Malfoy's cut above his left eye was fixed up. Charlie, who had broken his ankle (it had just been fixed up), was lying in the bed beside Harry, his breathing shallow, with his arms over his eyes. All he had said when Madam Pomfrey had asked what happened was the dragons escaped. Malfoy was still unconscious, and Charlie wasn't talking anymore, so nobody knew what had happened exactly. 

"Potter, are you well enough to stand?" Pomfrey asked as he bit off another chunk of chocolate (McGonagall had given it to him), and when Harry stood, she waved him over. "I need you to keep watch over Malfoy until I'm back from the storage room with a potion. Mr. Weasley, are you well?" 

Charlie sat up and stared unseeingly at Madam Pomfrey before nodding. 

"Keep an eye on the two of them," she nodded at Harry and Malfoy, who hadn't ever been in such close proximity of each other without fighting. 

Charlie nodded again before collapsing back on his pillows and staring up at the darkened sky on the ceiling. Harry watched him before walking the short distance to Malfoy's bed and sitting in the empty chair beside him. Malfoy's blond hair was streaked with dirt, mud, and dried blood. His face was smudged with dirt, dried blood caked on the side of his temple. His chest rose and fell in constant motion, his breath coming slowly and calmly. 

Harry's eyes trailed down from his face to the dirty white shirt he was wearing. He had on what looked to be Charlie's pants (and probably were), made of dragon-hide, or some other kind of leather. The boots at the foot of the bed on the floor were dragon-hide as well. They looked old and worn, and Harry thought they could've been Charlie's, except hand-me-downs were not the Malfoy way of dressing. 

Malfoy's left hand clenched into a fist, then relaxed. Harry watched it a moment before his eyes wandered to Malfoy's wrist. He felt his eyes widen slightly, and he looked around to make sure no one was in there watching (Charlie was still staring at the ceiling). Carefully, he touched Malfoy's wrist, pushing it so he could see the lines that ran from his wrist to elbow. The rest above his elbow were covered with the shirtsleeve. Dark scars, along with light, and puffy scars that Harry had an urge to run his fingers over. His fingers lingered over the nearest scar, which was across the bottom of the heel of Malfoy's hand, puffy and light, and then his hand was grasped and Malfoy pulled him down so that their faces were an inch apart. 

"Like what you see, Potter?" he hissed, his gray eyes narrow and full of anger. Harry was too surprised to answer, but he was trying desperately to get out of Malfoy's grasp. Malfoy's right arm pulled Harry's neck down and Harry held his breath. "Want to see more, Potter? I've got them all over." 

"Draco, let him go," Charlie said from his bed. 

Malfoy stared at Harry for a long moment before shoving him as hard as he could away. He sat up on his bed and touched the side of his head where he must have had a headache because he began rubbing it gently. 

"What happened, Weasley?" Malfoy thought a second; Harry hurried back to his bed and watched Charlie. "And where is my bloody wand?" 

Madam Pomfrey re-entered the room, carrying a few bottles of potions. She handed one to Malfoy saying, "It's good to see you awake." Before handing the other two bottles to Charlie. Just as she opened her mouth to say more, a howl pierced through the empty corridors, toward the Wing. Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I never get a moment, not even on vacation." 

Harry jumped up when he saw Hagrid enter the room, carrying Lupin in his arms. Lupin was in half form, screaming and howling at once, his body writhing as a long silver sword wedged its way farther into his right side and poking out the other. Blood dripped from the cut, pooling on the floor as Hagrid made his way to an empty bed, where he and Pomfrey pulled a screen around so the other three occupants couldn't see what was happening. A moment later, a leopard limped into the room, collapsing at the foot of Harry's bed, licking its wounds. Harry was standing next to the leopard, staring at the screen, where Lupin was screaming. Bile rose in his throat and tears stung his eyes. 

"Get it the fuck out," Harry heard Lupin whimper before more screams erupted from his throat. Harry fell to his knees and threw his hands to his ears, shutting his eyes and humming, trying to block out the sounds of Lupin screaming in pain. 

Minutes later, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and he raised his head slowly, wiping the hot tears from his cheeks. Charlie offered his hand to help him up, but Harry ignored it and stood himself. Lupin was still whimpering and howling quietly, but he saw the sword that had pierced him; it had been thrown carelessly on the ground, dripping blood onto the white tile. Harry stared at it a moment, the light from the room dancing off the silver, sparkling up at him. Malfoy was staring at it curiously, too, and both the boys inched toward it, fascinated. 

"No," Charlie shook his head, grabbing both the boys by the back of their shirts. "It's got lycanthrope blood, don't touch. Let's get out of here, okay? Go down to the kitchen or something, I'm hungry." 

Harry nodded and turned and followed Charlie toward the hall, trying his hardest not to focus on Lupin's crying. He'd be okay, though, because lycanthrope's healed easily. He didn't have to worry about losing Lupin, too, because he wouldn't; it'd be hard to kill the werewolf, right? 

Malfoy followed behind the other two, glancing behind his shoulder at the rapier that laid on its side on the floor, dripping the infected blood onto the tiles. Then he spat on the floor, and didn't look back again as he trotted after Charlie and Harry. He wasn't hungry, but it didn't matter; he had to get out of the room, or he'd go insane like Harry had a moment before. 

*****

Everything around Dumbledore was falling to pieces. 

Literally. 

On his right, a building was collapsing under its own weight, the outcome of the Death Eater attacks that had occurred only thirty minutes prior. At the moment, he was with Tonks, Moody and Snape, trying desperately to keep the victims under control. Hysterical women sobbed into Snape's chest, clutching at him as he whispered to them to calm down, everything will be alright, no need to cry. A few men tried to have their shots at Moody, but he was quicker than they, and beat them before they even began. Many of them had been stunned, many unconscious due to Tonks' talent of clumsiness. Nobody could perfect it quite like her. 

Bodies scattered the entire length of Diagon Alley, but they were only the injured. The deceased had been moved immediately, and now was time for clean-up until Aurors could arrive. Currently, they were in Romania, Scotland, and scattered everywhere in between, where other attacks had occurred. Romania had been the first, nearly an hour ago, where the wards had been disabled and the dragons, basilisks, chimeras and wyverns escaped, some with Death Eaters, others in groups or alone, scattering across the country and moving into hiding. Few people got away from the campsites alive, and Dumbledore feared Charlie was amongst the unlucky. 

The other attacks were more minor, but just as devastating, taking out wizard towns and villages in moments before the Death Eater's apparated away, leaving behind destruction. Diagon Alley had been hit the hardest, damaging most of the shops. The Leaky Cauldron was destroyed completely, as were the stores around it (it was impossible to tell what they were now). 

Fred and George were standing in front of their newly opened shop, staring through the window-less entrance, into the destroyed floor room. They stood together, their shoulders tense, all hints of amusement and laughter gone. Their jaws were tight, and their eyes narrowed in a glare, unable to do anything else. They had come to help with the Order, but no longer cared; their shop was completely gone. 

Snape approached Dumbledore, dusting off his sleeves and then looked up at the headmaster. "Mrs. Weasley sent her son and Granger down here. I suggest we look for them, since nobody has come across them." 

"Indeed. Do you know what they had been shopping for?" Dumbledore asked, then began looking around at the destroyed shops, trying to find any indication that would lead them to Ron and Hermione, if they were here at all. 

"Not entirely, though Weasley wanted to buy Potter a gift of some sort," Snape answered, and followed Dumbledore as he slowly began making his way down the street. 

"Then they would be around the bookstore or quidditch shop, I believe. Ron is quite fond of the quidditch supplies himself," Dumbledore said as they opened the broken door of the quidditch supply store. 

It was in ruins. There were overturned shelves, broken bottles and cases, torn books and shattered glass all over the floor. Dumbledore and Snape both took out their wands, and then began searching. 

"Ron?" Dumbledore called, and he heard Snape doing the same (of course, saying Weasley instead). 

Snape moved around the counter to the back room, while Dumbledore began picking up the shelves, each time hoping Ron or Hermione weren't smashed underneath. He had only done this a few times before he heard Snape calling for him. 

In the storage room, the boxes and quidditch goods were scattered everywhere. A path led from the door Dumbledore was standing at to the other side of the room where Snape was, accompanied by both Ron and Hermione, looking both terrified and relieved. When Dumbledore met up with them, Ron looked up at him, his eyes wide. 

"What happened?" 

"Death Eaters attacked," Snape said shortly. Dumbledore glanced at him, and he nodded back. 

"I think you two better get back to Hogwarts before Aurors get here. They'll want to question you, but if you were never here, you can't be questioned," Dumbledore winked, causing Ron to smile a little. Hermione was clutching his hand, her free arm around her stomach, and she was staring down at the ground. She seemed to be in shock. "Harry is awake, so you can talk to him." 

Ron nodded and his hold on Hermione's hand tightened slightly. Dumbledore looked around, then bent down and picked up an empty wooden box, about the size of a book. He muttered a spell, then handed it to both Hermione and Ron. 

"This will take you to the Hospital Wing," he said, then waited for Hermione to nod her understanding (it took a moment), then smiled. "I'll be there in a little while." 

Hermione and Ron grabbed the box at the same time, and a moment later, they were gone. Dumbledore sighed and looked at his Potion's Master. "This will be a long and tedious night, Severus." 

"Indeed it will," Snape replied, and they both looked around the storage room in silence. Then Snape asked, "do you think Granger saw this?" 

"She seemed very withdrawn. It's a good chance," Dumbledore tucked his wand in his robe pocket and turned back to the floor room. "I think we'll need to have a discussion with Ms. Granger when we return." 

"And Potter?" Snape asked as they made their way out of the storage room and store, out onto the ruined streets of Diagon Alley. 

"When the time is right, Severus." 

*****

"And you're telling me that," the man speaking paused, waving one of his hands around, trying to understand something completely, "you're telling me that you had her less than a foot away and she just..disappeared?" 

"She locked herself in a closet, Master," another man replied the first on, his head bent, staring at the stone floor beneath his kneeling body. "I couldn't open it myself. It was very strong magic." 

"A sixteen year old cannot use strong magic!" Voldemort screeched, his body thrust forward in the chair he was sitting in. Around the kneeling man were more cowering figures. 

"If I may, sir," a voice broken out at the end of the crowd of cowering bodies. Voldemort stared around the room until he found who was speaking, and he grimaced, but allowed the man to speak. "I had family go to school with this girl. She indeed is superb at her magic, as you were when you were sixteen, master." 

Voldemort stared at the figure a moment, thinking about what they had said, and a small smile played on his lips. "Indeed, Weasley. Do come forward, will you?" 

The Weasley stepped through the crowd and fell to his knees in front of the Dark Lord, bowing until his forehead touched the stone floor. Voldemort tapped his wand impatiently against the armrest of his chair until the Weasley looked up, his blue eyes piercing red ones. 

"Of course you shall be punished later for your interrupting me. However," Voldemort got to his feet and walked around the Weasley, stopping when he was in front of Weasley again. "I believe it's time to meet the rest of your dear family, wouldn't you think so, Weasley?" 

"A wonderful idea, master," Weasley replied, then looked up at him. "I will have a plan soon, my Lord." 

"Yes, Weasley, you will," Voldemort hissed before pointing his wand at Weasley. "_Crucio_." 

*****

"So how did you get to be here, Harry?" Charlie asked as the three boys sat around a circular table in the Great Hall, eating their supper quietly. Dobby had been more than happy to help Harry (and his old master) get supper, and had even offered a small feast upon Harry's arrival. Draco had chortled at this but otherwise said nothing about it. 

"Er," Harry glanced at Draco, hoping Charlie would understand he didn't want to talk about it in front of the Malfoy, but either Charlie didn't get it or he ignored it, because he stared at Harry with the same curious expression. 

"That's a nasty bruise you got on your eye. What happened?" 

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry dropped his gaze to the plate of food. He hadn't touched it; he only got it to say he had the food in front of him. 

Charlie touched Harry's eye and he winced, looking up quickly. "Mum always told us it was only a matter of time before that household got too unbearable for you." 

"Look, Charlie, I don't want to talk about it, I said!" Harry snapped, standing up so quickly his chair crashed to the ground. "Yeah, so what, my uncle knocked me unconscious. Unfortunately, I'm still here, still walking and talking and being alive." 

"Or you could be like Sir Nick," Draco offered, taking a bite of his biscuit. "He walks and talks, but he isn't alive." 

"He's _transparent_," Charlie said irritably. "Harry is far from that, though if he doesn't eat something he might as well be dead." 

Draco and Charlie stared at Harry, who was staring incredulously at the two of them. "Are you _kidding_ me? You have got to be joking." 

"About what?" Charlie asked, and Harry shook his head. 

"I'm going back to the Wing to see Lupin." 

Harry spun and was about to walk when Draco began talking. "You know, Potter, you're just running from your problems. I've seen you run, but I've seen you fight, too. Come to think of it, you're terrible at fist fighting, but we aren't talking about that." 

"Shut _up_." 

"Alright, then," Draco shrugged and leaned back. "Run, along then, Potter. Go ahead, run away." 

But Harry didn't move. He kept his back to Draco and felt his mind go blank. He had nothing to say back to him because he was right. 

"My godfather died in front of my eyes. I won't let Lupin die, too. I'm going." 

Harry turned again to stalk out, to make a grand exit, being pissed off, but something stopped him. He could hear Charlie whispering something, and he strained to hear what he said, and finally, he turned back to glare at the eldest Weasley. 

"What did you say?" he demanded, and though he wasn't mad at Charlie, or even Malfoy, he couldn't stop himself. He'd been angry ever since Sirius died, and he needed to get it out, he had to. 

"I said that you can't help him. He might die, Harry, and you can't stop that. You can't stop death. The best you can do is sit it out. You don't need to see more death," Charlie answered, and Harry could see Malfoy clench his jaw, lowering his eyes. He was surprised to hear no sarcastic comment, but then again, it seemed that Malfoy had some respect for Charlie. 

"Don't you ever," Harry sputtered, unable to control his growing anger. "_What are you talking about_?!" 

Charlie sat back and stared at Harry with tired eyes. "The blade was pure silver, Harry. Lycanthrope's can't heal wounds caused by silver." 

Harry's eyes widened. "But..but the blade went in his side and out the other, it.." 

Charlie nodded. 

"I heard that there are highly advanced spells and potions that could help heal silver wounds," Draco said then, though his eyes were still locked on the table. His voice was slightly harsh-sounding, but otherwise he had no hints of sarcasm. 

Harry ignored what he said and continued to stare stupidly at Charlie. 

"So..so..he's going to die too, is that what you're saying?" Harry inched forward, his anger dissipating. He suddenly felt tired and wanted to collapse right there on the spot. His ribs ached and his head was beginning to hurt, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to be held. 

When Charlie nodded, Draco slammed his hand on the table with his open hand. Both Harry and Charlie looked up, confused, staring at the suddenly irate blond. "Are Gryffindors _supposed_ to be thick-headed?" 

"What?" Charlie and Harry asked at the same time, their thoughts about Lupin halted for a moment. Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

"You Gryffindors give up too easily," Draco said, then bent his neck, popping the joints. He let out a small sigh and then continued, "look at it this way. Lupin's in the best care he can get, aside from St. Mungo's, right? Yeah, silver's gonna kill him, but we've also got Snape, who is a master at potions, remember?" 

Charlie straightened up then. "That's right. And Dumbledore would probably know something about fixing Lupin up. Plus, Pomfrey must know what she's doing." 

Harry stared at the two before turning around and stomping out of the Hall, infuriated. How dare Malfoy get involved in the conversation? The conversation was none of his business. Besides, what the hell did he care if Lupin would die or not? 

An image flashed in Harry's head of the scars that criss-crossed Malfoy's arm, and suddenly felt a bit guilty, but he wasn't sure why. They were only scars, too; no cuts or anything, so they were probably old, but that didn't mean anything. Harry wasn't dense; he knew what the scars were from and he probably knew why they were there, too. 

Shaking his head, Harry turned the corner into the Hospital Wing, pushing the thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind. Malfoy didn't matter, anyway. What he did to his body was his own business and it didn't mean anything to Harry in the least. 

The scene that met Harry wasn't what he had expected. For one, he half-expected Lupin to be dying, and maybe he was, but he seemed to be sleeping, as was Hagrid on the bed beside him. Crouched beside the rapier that was still lying on the floor with blood pooled underneath it was Moody, his magical eye focusing on it and moving around as it studied it silently. Beside Lupin's bed was Snape, Dumbledore and Tonks, all talking quietly, administering potions and spells continuously. Pomfrey was beside Hagrid, running her wand back and forth over his body. The leopard was lying on its side on another bed, its wounds healing before Harry's eyes. 

On another bed was Ron, his arms flung over his eyes and his chest rising and falling evenly, and Harry could tell he was asleep. A surge of emotion fled through his body; Ron was _here_. But he was also injured, or ill, because he was lying in the Hospital Wing, sleeping. 

Beside Ron's bed, Hermione was sitting in a chair, her legs pulled to her chest. Her hands were clasped in front of her shins and she was staring at a spot on the floor, digging her chin into her knees. Her hair was a mess, falling out of its tie and springing up around her head. Her face was pale and dirty, her eyes wide, and she seemed to be muttering to herself. Tears had streaked down her face, leaving trails of dirt, and Harry felt ill. Hermione was in shock; something serious had happened. 

"Harry, Harry good to see you, come over here, please?" Tonks said as Harry had begun walking toward Hermione. He looked up, slightly irritated, before his eyes trailed down to her stomach, where blood was soaking through the clothes. 

"What happened?" he asked as he stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes wide with horror. Tonks looked down, then up at Harry, and over at Lupin. 

"Remus is bleeding horribly. We've got it under control, and he'll survive the night at least, but I need your help with something. See that cut right there?" Tonk asked and pointed to a gash on Lupin's chest, which trailed from the upper shoulder down to the top of his stomach. Harry felt dizzy, but nodded. "I need you to clean it, can you do that?" 

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and Snape, who were staring at Harry curiously. Well, Dumbledore was; Snape was more like glaring at Harry in a peculiar way. 

"It's alright, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, smiling at Harry in a fatherly manner, which confused Harry more. "All you need to do is put this," Dumbledore handed Harry a jar of thick, white cream, which smelled like lemon, "on some of these," a small stack of cotton pads was then pushed into Harry's other hand, "and then carefully put it on the wound. It's quite deep, but once the infection is destroyed, we may be able to heal him." 

"But sir," Harry looked up at Dumbledore, his brows knit in confusion. "Lupin is a werewolf. I can't touch his blood." 

"Are you scared?" Snape hissed, and Harry looked startled for a moment before narrowing his eyes. The three adults were staring at him impatiently, as if daring him to touch the blood and get the disease as well. 

"I don't want to be a werewolf," Harry said uneasily, and Snape let out a bark of laughter. 

Dumbledore, however, just smiled more. "It's quite alright, Harry. There's no need to worry, you can't catch it." 

"But -" 

"Harry," Hermione said, and Harry spun around, facing Hermione for the first time since school ended. She raised her hand to his shoulder and pushed him gently toward Lupin's bed. "It'll be okay. If you don't hurry, he'll die." 

Harry bit his lip, stared at the gash on Lupin's chest, and felt his stomach turn. Why was he the one who had to do this? It was always him, and if he didn't do these things, he'd let down more than one person. Apparently, Lupin's life was in Harry's hands, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to be a hero. 

Dipping a cotton pad into the jar of lemon-scented cream, Harry touched the medication to the wound. If it was supposed to sting, Harry didn't know, because Lupin was still snoring lightly, his features peaceful. But the medication seemed to take effect immediately, because the wound began to close itself, and the bleeding began to stop. A moment later, the wound was only a dark scar, and Lupin looked better. 

Tonks let out a squeak and backed up slightly, her eyes wide, staring from Lupin to Harry. Snape let out a grunt and turned and stalked out of the room. Hermione sighed quietly from behind Harry. The only person around the bed who didn't have an odd reaction was Dumbledore, who put his hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled brightly at Harry. 

"Well done," he said, his eyes sparkling. 

"I didn't do anything," Harry stared from Tonks to Dumbledore, beyond confused. All he had done was what they asked - put the medication on the wound. 

"You did wonders," Dumbledore smiled at Harry, his eyes dark with mischief. Harry felt suddenly sick, and wondered what was going on. Hermione looking like she was in shock (or more shock than before), Lupin sleeping peacefully, Ron on the other side of the room - it all had something to do with him, he knew it, and yet, nobody was telling him anything. 

"Sir?" 

"I believe your career of choice had been an Auror, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at Lupin admirably, stroking the hair from his forehead. Lupin had completely changed back to a human as far as Harry could see (a sheet was covering the lower-half of his body, much to Harry's relief), and all that was left from the sword were the dark scars on his chest and sides of his stomach. 

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, and felt his stomach flutter. Dumbledore was going to tell him something, he knew it. 

"You should rethink your career path, then," Dumbledore winked at Harry, turned on his heel, and left. 

Harry stared after him and frowned. Maybe Dumbledore _wasn't_ going to tell him anything. 

"Bullocks," he muttered before turning to Hermione, who was looking a bit more colored than she did a minute before. "What's going on, Hermione? Has everyone completely lost it? Malfoy's downstairs -" 

"Malfoy is the least of your troubles, Harry. What you did just now, that was amazing. You don't even realize it, but you did something not even the top Healers can do." 

Harry sighed. "Hermione, what in the _hell_ are you talking about?" 

Hermione closed her eyes a moment before she opened them again. They were dark and Harry could almost swear colors were swirling in the brown of her eyes. She bit her lip and seemed to be fighting back tears. 

"We're changing," Hermione said, and she folded her arms across her chest as if she were cold. "Some of us for the good, some for the bad. Sometimes, people develop new skills and new types of magic, and whether or not they develop them in childhood, or in adulthood, depends on the person. It's not like puberty, though; not everyone goes through it. Only some people - the ones who are supposed to make an impact. It's believed that the Gods choose these certain people to have certain skills that others cannot possess, and when you're chosen, it decides your future." 

Harry knit his brow in confusion and stared down at Lupin, who was sleeping peacefully still. "What are you talking about? I have .. new magic powers?" 

"In a way, yes. They've always been there, though, and now they're showing. Dumbledore was talking about it before you came, but of course, I already knew about it." 

Harry looked up at her, more confused than ever. "You already knew? How?" 

This time, a tear dropped from Hermione's eye, which was now a dark blue rather than brown, which only added to the confused state Harry was in. She sucked in a breath and licked her lips before answering. 

"Dumbledore thinks I'm a psychic. Not a Seer, though it's almost the same. I've never really seen the future, you know? It's so overwhelming, and for once, I don't know what I'm doing. Dumbledore thinks that because of Voldemort's rise to power, everyone who is supposed to weld these new magic skills will begin showing their new skills. Everyone feels threatened, and their powers are going to flare up. That's why you got so sick when your uncle beat you; not because you didn't eat, though that could be a factor. But because your powers to heal are so untrained, and you'd never dealt with it before, your body reacted in the way it would if you had contracted a disease." 

"Hermione.." Harry breathed, and dropped his eyes to the floor. When he looked back up, he saw her staring at him intently. "You've lost your mind." 

"No," she shook her head and gripped his upper arms, staring into his eyes. "You have to believe me, Harry. You have to. Voldemort's going to try to use this power against you. Everyone's path is already chosen for them when they weld these powers; that's why you have a certain one, and no one else does." 

"What's my path then?" Harry asked sarcastically, and Hermione let out a small sob, letting go of his arm. 

"Psychics and Seer's are used on the Light side, for the most part, because then we can See the future, See the outcome of our choices, and the Dark, they don't need such things because they believe in one thing, and that's domination. They don't need our input because they can survive without it, because it's happened in the past. Werewolves and other lycanthrope's are used on the Dark side, because of their ability to change forms into rabid animals." 

"And people like me?" 

Hermione's eyes burned into Harry's, but she forced herself to keep a calm, neutral voice. "The Dark side," was all she could get out before she backed away from Harry and collapsed onto an empty bed and began to sob. 

*****

^_^ 


	6. 06

**Author's Note/Warning:** This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either. 

Draco might be a bit OOC, but then again, he loves dragons, so it won't be THAT OOC, right? Once again, JKR has failed to give us insight on the best character.. 

*****

The next morning, Harry had come to realize that more problems had sprung up during the night than he realized. Lupin and Hagrid had both slept the night through, and were still sleeping, which seemed to be a problem because it was after ten and thus meaning they had slept at least twelve hours without once waking up. Pomfrey and Dumbledore were busy trying to figure out what happened to them, continuously mentioning the rapier that was still lying on the floor, which was now protected by an invisible barrier. 

Mrs. Weasley had ushered Hermione and Ron back to The Burrow in the wee hours of daybreak, and even tried to get Harry to go, but he declined, saying he had to stay behind for Dumbledore. It was true, too. Dumbledore said once he was done with fussing over Hagrid, he would take Harry out for a walk and explain everything to him, which Harry was looking forward to more than anything. 

Draco was still hanging around with Charlie, both playing Wizard's Chess on the other side of the room and discussing this morning's copy of _The Daily Prophet_. There had been articles about the previous day's attacks on Romania and Diagon Alley, and Harry had heard Draco arguing with Charlie about the whereabouts of his dragon. Charlie said that chances were, the dragon was in hiding in a cave somewhere nearby, since it didn't have much stamina for flying because it didn't grow up in the wild, but instead pent up where he couldn't fly very much. Draco had said his dragon was probably in the care of his father's friends, and this was the theory Harry believed as well. If the Death Eater's wanted a dragon, why not have the dragon that they knew belonged to Malfoy? 

Breakfast had been served a few minutes prior, with Dobby sitting on his knees, watching Harry as he picked at his food. Eventually, Dobby began bothering Harry about actually eating, and magically received a fork from the kitchen and tried helping Harry eat. Because of this, Harry had to eat his food quickly, and felt slightly sick because he'd eaten more than he was used to. 

Currently, he was watching Tonks drink a bottle of firewhiskey by herself. Tonks had brought the whiskey back from Hogsmeade, where Moody was currently getting drunk, trying to rid his mind of the problems of the world (he was even ranting about Holy Wars that took place in the 1700s). Charlie had tried to encourage Dumbledore to let Harry drink some, too, but it was to no avail. A drunk Harry Potter was useless to the world. Besides, it was only ten in the morning. 

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked as he entered the room. He looked down at Draco, who was encouraging his knight to destroy one of Charlie's innocent pawns. Draco looked up, a bit irritated, but said nothing. "What are you doing here?" 

"Mother disappeared," Draco replied, then went back to his game, watching helplessly as Charlie's queen took her crown and beat Draco's knight unconcious, breaking it into tiny pieces. "I stayed in Romania for a bit, and here I am." 

"What do you mean, your mother disappeared?" Snape pulled up a chair and sat down to watch the game of chess. 

Tonks popped open another bottle of firewhiskey and tilted her head back, drinking down the liquid. Harry held out his hand, reaching for the bottle, and Tonks nearly gave it to him before she sent a shock from her wand to Harry's hand. Harry bit back a yelp of pain, holding his injured hand. Dumbledore glanced at him before turning to the Potion's Master. 

"Severus, I believe we have a problem here." 

"As do I. Mrs. Malfoy is missing, and without his father, Draco has no place to stay," Snape said to Dumbledore, his face screwed up in a sort of depressed look. 

"We will put together a search party and go to the Manor later this afternoon. At the moment, Severus, we have a bigger problem on our hands. If you could come here a moment?" Dumbledore didn't really ask him to come over, he was kindly telling him to move his arse, which made Harry grin despite himself. 

Snape stood up, fixed his robes, and moved to stand beside Dumbledore next to Hagrid's bed. They began muttering things to each other, and Snape prodded Hagrid with his wand, but nothing happened. A few more prods and muttered spells, but nothing came of it. Then, Snape turned to face Harry, and scowled. 

"Just get Potter to do it, Headmaster. He has already proved that even without lessons, he's more powerful than a Healer." 

Dumbledore regarded Harry with an odd look of sorrow mixed with pride, something that was rarely seen on anyone's face. Harry remembered briefly that Sirius always looked at him like that, but threw the thought to the farthest corner of his mind; he was _not_ going to start thinking about Sirius. 

"No, I'm afraid not," Dumbledore shook his head and turned his back to Harry again. Snape sneered at Harry before turning to face Hagrid again. "Severus, accompany me to the library, will you? I need to do some research." 

When Snape and Dumbledore left, Harry watched as Charlie's bishop checked Draco's king. He watched as Draco kicked Charlie under the table, but all in good fun. Mrs. Malfoy disappeared and Draco seemed quite alright with that, messing around with a Weasley and playing games while his mother was missing. A pang of guilt ran through Harry's body; all this time he'd been mourning Sirius's death. Harry bit his lip and turned his eyes, resting them on Lupin, who was still fast asleep. 

"He's in an enchanted sleep," Tonks said, putting the cap back on her firewhiskey and leaning back, staring at Harry curiously. "That rapier is bad news. No idea where they got it from." 

"They were both awake when they got here though," Harry stood up and shuffled over to Lupin's bed. He raised his hand just above Lupin's bare arm, and he remembered what Hermione had said the night before. 

_The Dark side_. 

_Voldemort will try to use this power against you_. 

_Your path is chosen for you_. 

Anger flared up through Harry's body, and his pulse began to race. He gripped Lupin's arm, and closed his eyes. Forget Hermione, she didn't know what she was talking about. For once, she was wrong. She had to be. Voldemort wasn't going to use this against him and make him come to the Dark side. And besides, Harry didn't _want_ to be evil. 

_You killed your Godfather. You _are_ evil_. 

Harry's eyes tightened and he began to wish for Lupin to wake up. Lupin _had_ to wake up. He didn't want to lose anyone else in his life. His parents and his godfather, and Harry knew that they wouldn't be the only ones. The least he could do was help Lupin live. 

_Werewolves and other lycanthrope's are used on the Dark side_. 

Harry's eyes flew open and he spun around, facing Tonks. "Where's that leopard?" 

Tonks looked up (she had been staring at the ground and laughing at something) and eyed Harry suspiciously. "I have no idea. Maybe it got tired of sitting here." 

"No, it was a wereleopard. Where did the person go?" 

"She's with mum," Charlie answered, and Harry spun around, facing Draco and Charlie, breathing heavily. He felt dizzy and hot, and had completely forgotten the other two were even in the room. "Dad wanted to bring her to the Ministry to have her questioned since Remus and Hagrid are knocked out." 

There was a sound from Harry's left, and he turned his head, and found himself staring into Lupin's wide eyes. Terror gripped at Harry, and he felt his body go limp. He fell to his knees and grabbed his hair, shutting his eyes and leaning forward. Realization struck him and he felt suddenly sick. He had waken Lupin from an enchanted sleep that neither Dumbledore nor Madam Pomfrey could take off him. 

Naseau hit Harry and he scrambled to his feet. He tore off his robes, leaving him in a white shirt and worn sweat pants, then tore out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him. He ignored Charlie yelling after him, and the questions Lupin was asking (mainly what happened?). He shoved Draco out of the way as he tried to stop him from running out of the Infirmary, and he ran all the way to the Entrance Hall wthout once looking back. 

After throwing the front doors open and stepping out into the rain, he dropped to his knees and began retching. 

*****

"Master, I have the plan!" 

Voldemort turned his red eyes to his pathetic follower who was bowing with his head to the stone floor. Then he looked up and met Voldemort's eyes, and never once flinched. Brownie points for the Death Eater's who could meet their master's eyes, because that was a very rare occurence. Lucius Malfoy had been able to, which was why Lucius had been the best. Of course, Lucius had come and gone, deprived of all his future trysts with the Dark Lord. 

"Do you, Weasley? Well, I do hope you set up a time for our attack tonight, then. Will Potter be there, by chance?" Voldemort asked, and began twirling a whiskey glass in his right hand, staring down at the dark liquid. 

"I believe Dumbledore has kept Potter back at the school, sir." 

"Ah, yes. I am also to believe that Bane had met an untimely death in the Forest last night, correct?" 

Weasley stood on his feet and brushed off his cloak. "It is believed, sir. The rapier is being kept inside the school, and the werewolf and half-giant are under the enchanted sleep." 

"Good," Voldemort twisted his face into his version of a pleased smile before waving his hand at the doorway. "Gone with you, Weasley. I shall drop by this evening with a few close friends." 

"Yes, sir," Weasley bowed again before turning and stalking out of the room. Voldemort watched, slightly amused, before another person entered the room and bowed before him. 

"Ah, Avery," Voldemort drank the last of his whiskey before dropping the glass on the ground beside the Death Eater, causing it to shatter into tiny pieces everywhere. The man jumped but didn't move away. "Good news regarding the Malfoy's, then?" 

Avery looked somewhat disshelved, and here he did slightly move back. "Mrs. Malfoy is taken care of, master. I'm afraid the boy got away." 

"He _got away_?!" Voldemort hissed, and threw out his foot, striking his Death Eater on the side of the head. "DO NOT TELL ME THESE THINGS!" 

Silence followed this statement. Avery clutched at his throbbing head and kept his eyes averted to the floor. Voldemort was now standing and pacing back and forth in front of his follower. 

"How, pray tell, did the boy get away? I thought you were _supposed_ to put wards around the Manor and keep him in?" Voldemort stopped in front of the shaking figure, and with his cold fingers, tilted the man's head up to stare him in the eyes. 

"I do not know, master! She assured us the wards would keep the two in, and while it kept Mrs. Malfoy and she -" 

"_She_?" Voldemort hissed and kicked the Death Eater again. "A _woman_?" 

"Sir, she is the Goddess of the Crossroads, she assured us -" 

"I DO NOT CARE IF SHE IS THE GODDESS OF MAGIC AND KNOWS EVERY -" 

"_She is the Goddess of Magic_!" Avery said desperately, but knew he had made a mistake. 

Voldemort rose his wand slowly and deliberately, and Avery was glued to the floor in fear. He closed his eyes, and he heard the words before his world went dark. 

"_Avada Kedavra_." 

*****

Ever since the Ministry began accepting Harry Potter's story of Voldemort's return, Percy Weasley had been a busy man. His day usually consisted of feeding the hundreds of owls that had appeared overnight, reading aloud the letters worried witches and wizards of the world had sent, and replying them all with a single letter. Most letters contained the same business - "is You-Know-Who really back?" and "is it safe for my children to go back to school". 

Percy, at the moment, was setting up on hundred and fifteen pieces of parchment, poising quills that had been made for this exact reason, then waved his wand at the long table the parchment was sitting on. He ran a hand through his hair and pocketed his wand, then rubbed his hands together and began pacing along the walkway between the table and the wall. 

"_Dear_," Percy paused and the quills began scratching at the parchment, writing 'Dear Mrs/Mr/Miss so-and-so'. "_The Ministry of Magic has begun sending out books and newsletters, free of charge, to each registered witch and wizard in the world. The books and newsletters consist of protection spells and charms that you are permitted to use in case of any danger or attacks. _

"It has been confirmed that yesterday, July sixth, there had been five simultaneous attacks upon our community. There is no immediate threat that will arise to these attacks, but it is crucial to stay indoors unless it is an absolute emergency. 

"Students are permitted back to their schools if parents consent. Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and all lower-grade schools will remain open this year unless problems arise. They are among the most guarded and protected buildings the Ministry has to offer, so that your children are safe from the attacks." 

Percy tilted his head and watched one quil write the letter out in french, and felt pleased with himself. He began walking alongside the other side of the table, admiring his work as he continued about his job. 

"_You-Know-Who is a major threat to our community, and we greatly stress the importance of avoiding all dark streets, pubs, shops, and villages. Do not speak to people you don't know, and we stress this with the most authority. We are safe as long as we make ourselves impossible to catch."_

Feeling even more pleased with himself, Percy signed the letter to Minister Fudge's name, had the quills address the letters to the respectful witches and wizards, then had the parchments fold themselves up and stuffed them into envelopes. The envelopes sealed themselves and zoomed off to find the appropriate owl, to go to it's destination, and within moments, the large office was empty. 

Percy picked up a letter that his mother had sent him, and almost crumpled it up when he read the first line. 

_Two of your brothers have been attacked_. 

_Then_ he crumpled it up. Chances were, it was Bill and Charlie. Sucks to be them, Percy mused. 

Even if he couldn't stand his parents, he didn't hate them, nor the rest his family. True, they disgusted him, with their seven kids and crappy house, never any money to have things he wanted. He didn't have a horrible childhood, but he couldn't remember ever being happy growing up because he never had anything that was _his_. Bill and Charlie, being the oldest, always got more favors and the new belongings, and everyone was stuck with hand-me-downs. His parents did try to make ends meet, but with only his father working, it was near impossible to feed all their children. 

Harry Potter had been deemed a liar. Percy didn't know if he fully believed this or not, but he knew that Harry was never a liar. He had known Harry since the kid was eleven, and had always been to shy to say much of anything to anyone. Ron had good sense, too, and never got in the 'wrong' type. So why had Percy believed the Ministry? 

He didn't want to lose his job. 

There was no way he was going to raise a family, if he ever did have one, like his parents had. He himself was never happy, was always sort of depressed most of the time. George and Fred were the happy ones, always getting in trouble, but they always took the blame for things, too. Percy just didn't care who got in trouble, as long as it wasn't him. And Ginny, she had grown up, too. She had grown into a cross between Ron, Fred and George, only with long hair and curves. Bill and Charlie he rarely saw, but they were both making good money and had their own lives to deal with. Charlie had a girlfriend at the camp in Romania, and Bill was dating around, but hadn't found anyone. Ron was still a kid, but he saw how his brother looked at the Granger girl. 

It really did make him sick. 

So that left Percy alone. Not saying he wasn't attracted to girls - he adored girls, and recently dated a few. It was just that work was so tiring and took up most of his time these days, and now with You-Know-Who out, life was hectic. 

Percy wasn't stupid. He knew what his family had said behind his back. That he was involved with You-Know-Who, that he was evil, that he wanted death to all, etc. While this could be true in the future, it wasn't true at the moment; Percy had to admit, he was neutral. He didn't want death, and he especially didn't want to kill half-bloods and mudbloods (he liked Harry and Hermione, afterall), but he wanted to show how pure the world would be if half-bloods and mudbloods were out of the way. On the other hand, that would leave only select few pureblood families and there would be no one left in their world. 

Percy wasn't selfish, either. His happiness wasn't first on his list of priorities. In fact, pleasing his family was still above all else. His family raised him and they were his, he couldn't deny them. He missed his twin brother's crazy antics, and the arguments Bill and his mother had about his 'look'. Ron had made the quidditch team at school, and Percy wanted to congratulate his brother on that, despite the fact that he despised of the game. Charlie was quickly becoming one of the top watchers Romania has ever seen, and that in itself was a great feat. He wanted to see Ginny grow up, and be the protective older brother he was meant to be. 

But he couldn't apologize to his parents. His pride was standing in the way of that, and he couldn't do it. He refused to. 

The Ministry had backtracked and began talking about how great Harry Potter was once again. What had Harry done? Percy knew that, yes, he had escaped from You-Know-Who over a year ago, and yes, he had escaped You-Know-Who again only a few months prior, right here in the Ministry building, but had he _done_ anything? Not really, no. But, it was impossible to meet the Dark Lord so many times and remain alive, especially at such a young age. 

No, Percy was stuck on the idea that Harry had 'inside help', or outside training and was far more of a danger to the Wizarding Kind than anyone even knew. Of course it was a ridiculous idea, a sixteen year old can't defeat the Dark Lord, nor can he have the magical capabilities to learn advanced magic. 

Then again, he did produce a Patronus. 

That in itself was quite impressive. 

Hermione Granger could do advanced magic, Percy realized as he exited the office he'd been using and made his way down the corridor to the main hall. She was also sixteen years old, but she was more advanced in general than Harry was. Or as far as everyone else knew. 

"Minister," Percy said as he caught up to Fudge, who had been eating a sandwich while discussing the re-location of the popular Japanese okiya in Gion (as far as Minister Fudge was concerned, Japanese geisha were the _only_ way to go). "I need to speak to you for a moment, excuse me, Prime Minister," Percy inclined his head and pulled Fudge away from the Japanese Prime Minister. 

"What is this about, Weasley?" Fudge asked, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I'm doing important business." 

"I'm sorry, Minister, but I think we have reason to keep an eye on Harry Potter." 

"But why?" 

"He knows more advanced magic than we thought." 

*****

"He said _what_?" Mrs. Weasley asked her husband furiously. She was standing outside, beside a large picnic table full of food and had her hands on her hips. "Why would Percy do such a thing?!" 

"Sabotage, maybe," Arthur shrugged, and looked around the yard. "Fudge said that if Harry knows advanced magic, that he has to know, otherwise it's considered a threat to the community." 

"Harry is not a threat!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, unaware that Ron and Hermione were sitting across the table, listening intently. Hermione shook her head when Ron went to make a comment, causing Ron to snap his mouth shut. 

"I know," Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement, then looked for a second time at the yard, then up at the darkening sky. "It's about to rain, dear." 

"Yes," she looked up at the sky distastefully. "I suppose we'll have to eat quickly then." 

Hermione looked up in the sky and closed her eyes, keeping her face up at the dark clouds. If her mind was clear, she could 'see' the future; though, technically, without a teacher to show her the right ways to do this, she wasn't going to see the future until a split second before the 'event' occured. Even with her mind cleared, nothing came to her, so she went back to studying the book in front of her. Ron nudged her and nodded in the direction of Bill and Ginny, who were throwing mud at each other. 

"You wouldn't think Bill was twenty five, would you?" he asked, and he got a small smile out of Hermione, which made his stomach flutter. "What's going on, 'Mione? You've been really distant." 

"Just shaken a bit," Hermione said with a very un-convincing smile. "I'm still a bit worried about Harry, too. He looked very unlike himself, and acted odd." 

"I didn't talk to him," Ron frowned, then looked up as his mother began dishing food out. "Mum, why are you making us have a picnic when it's going to rain?" 

"I'm not making you. You're more than welcome to eat inside, if you wish. There's just more room out here, and it won't rain for a little longer. For Heaven's sake, Bill! There's mud in your eyelashes!" Mrs. Weasley removed a hankerchief and began dusting her son's eyes, standing on her tip-toes as she did it. 

Ron shrugged and grabbed his plate. "Let's go inside and start a fire and sit on the couch." 

Hermione nodded and shut her book, putting it underneath her arm. She grabbed her plate of food, thanking Mrs. Weasley for the wonderful-looking lunch, and made her way inside after Ron. Mr. Weasley was walking back outside, after having to go in to get napkins, and looked at his son and Hermione with mock-anger. 

"Why, going inside on such a beautiful day?" he asked, and turned his son around by his shoulders, facing him back at the tables. "I say, go sit down!" 

"Dad," Ron whined, twisting out of his father's grasp and moving next to Hermione again. "I don't want to be rained on." 

Mr. Weasley raised his eyes and squinted at something, then nodded. "Suit yourself then, son." 

Ron rolled his eyes at his father and grabbed Hermione's arm and together the two went inside the empty house. Hermione sat on the couch while Ron started a fire in the grate with a matchbook before sitting down beside his friend. As the two began to eat, however, an image flashed through Hermione's mind, and she screamed. 

"What?" Ron asked, and Hermione grabbed his hand and she started pulling him up the stairs. Ron stared at her, pulling back. "What's going on?" 

"RON, COME ON!" She yelled at him, holding his hand tighter, pulling him, but he wouldn't move. "_Ron_!" 

There was a crashing sound outside, and the very distinct 'pops' of someone apparating. Mrs. Weasley screamed, along with Ginny, and Ron's eyes grew wide. He moved to go outside, but Hermione kept her hold on his hand. 

"We have to hide, Ron, please, we have to hide!" 

"I can't leave my family out there," Ron said, taking out his wand with his free hand. He yanked his hand from hers and stared at her with scared eyes. "I want you to stay in here and you hide, okay? I'll come back for you but I need you safe?" 

"That's not fair! I know more spells than you!" 

Ron glared at her. "I don't _care_. HIDE DAMMIT!" Ron shoved her up the stairs, and she stumbled as the back door swung open. 

As Hermione ran as quickly and quietly as she could, she stole a glance at who had entered the room. The scene made her sick, and she felt tears sting her eyes. 

Voldemort was surveying the room, looking around the kitchen with a sour expression. Standing beside him, looking almost pleased, was Arthur Weasley. 

*****


	7. 07

bAuthor's Note/Warning:/b This takes place AFTER the Order of the Phoenix; do not read this unless you have read book 5, because the whole reason this story found it's way here was because of the death! Read at your own risk. Angsty and somewhat dark. Blah blah should be R but it's not.  
  
/b I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters involved in this story. 'Best of Both Worlds' is a song by Feeling Left Out so I don't own the title either.   
  
pDraco might be a bit OOC, but then again, he loves dragons, so it won't be THAT OOC, right? Once again, JKR has failed to give us insight on the best character..  
  
pHarry had run the around the school of Hogwarts twice before collapsing by the lake, sitting with his legs crossed Indian-style. The squid wasn't out, probably asleep as the heavy rain hit the top of the water, almost in a soothing way. Sweat had mixed with water, and Harry was sorry to say that the water didn't do much to wash the smell of the sweat away. He hadn't showered in days, so he made a note to do so later.  
  
pWith his breathing back to normal, and the adrenaline from running gone, Harry began to feel how cold the rain was making his bones and how weak he suddenly was. He really shouldn't have run, but he was so upset about -  
  
iWhy not?/i His mind asked, and Harry shut his eyes and took off his glasses. He rubbed his aching eyes and then layed back, getting mud in his hair and all over the back of his drenched clothes. It didn't matter, though; little things like this were far from a concern anymore.  
  
iI don't want to think about itiYou'll have to deal with it sometime.pHarry's thoughts ceased when he felt someone's presence above him, and he reached for his glasses, opening his eyes at the same time. He squinted up as his glasses began to fog, and felt his heart sink when he saw Dumbledore, robes drenched and hair matted down. Despite this, however, Dumbledore was smiling.  
  
p"A bit wet out here, don't you think?" Dumbledore asked as Harry sat upright, continuing to stare at the elderly man with a look of unease and dread. "Harry, don't look so upset. Come, let's take that walk. Or, rather, go inside, and have a cup of hot chocolate?"  
  
pDespite himself, Harry got up and eagerly followed Dumbledore inside. They were both drenched, cold, and obviously tired, but the sound of hot chocolate made Harry's mouth water. As they neared the school, Harry felt the sense of dread pass and he felt more alert, more aware of his feelings, and a sad emotion creep over him. His mind began to wander to Sirius, and Lupin, who was probably lying on his hospital bed, chatting with Charlie, Malfoy, and Hagrid -  
  
p"Professor, is Hagrid alright?" Harry asked before they stepped into the warmth of the castle, and a shiver ran up his spine, then another. Dumbledore muttered drying spells on Harry, then on himself, and when he was happy with what he'd done, he looked in Harry's eyes.  
  
p"He's still sleeping. I'd like to talk to you about what's going on. I know Ms. Granger has already explained some things, things that she had overheard from my conversations with Professor Snape, but I really should explain it to you myself," Dumbledore said as they began walking in the direction of the Great Hall. "Now, first and foremost, you have been told repeatedly, I'm sure, about the fascinating color of your eyes, and have heard on numerous occasions about having your mother's eyes?" he asked, and Harry nodded in response as they entered the Hall and made their way to a table set up in the middle of the room with four seats; two for Harry and Dumbledore, but Harry didn't know who the other two were for. "Let me give you a little history about your mother."  
  
pDumbledore poured Harry and himself a cup of cocoa before sitting back in his chair, Harry doing the same.   
  
p"Your mother was a fine student. She had mastered all of the courses she took with flying colours. She took Arithmancy, and had, in fact, skipped an entire year of it, having studied during the summer."  
  
p"You can't do magic over the summer."  
  
p"Mind you, she was sixteen, studying magic at a seventh year level. Most seventh years are permitted to use magic, since they are seventeen. She got a parden from the Ministry, just as Ms. Granger had been permitted to use the time-turner in your third year," Dumbledore explained, then took a sip of his hot cocoa. Then he looked at the dark ceiling thoughtfully before continuing. "Ms. Granger has no doubt explained to you about the changes those of us who have more powers go through?"  
  
p"Yes," Harry said, then wondered what Dumbledore meant when he said 'us'.  
  
p"They usually occur after the person has graduated. A few years into their twenties, some later, some earlier. Those of us who have these new powers go into schooling again for a little while and take lessons on how to control them. Such as Tonks, with her ability to change her appearance, which comes in quite handy in crucial times. Ms. Granger and yourself, however, are showing your powers extremely early. It's quite a coincidence, I must say, for you both to have shown them within the same hour. Why you are showing them sooner than usual, I do not know. I can only assume that because of the threat Voldemort has begun to pose upon our world, you have been more stressed than usual. Because of this, your body reacts differently to everything. Make sense?"  
  
p"I suppose so," Harry said, putting down his cup of cocoa. "Hermione said something about my path having been chosen?"  
  
pDumbledore smiled at this. "In the past, your type had been recruited - or, rather, kidnapped - to be of service to the wounded in battle on the Dark Side. Of course, with different Dark Lords, and different reasons for warring and the such, comes different types of 'evil' creatures, I suppose. Ms. Granger, being a psychic, is used on both sides as well. There isn't really such thing as having a path being chosen. Well, were-animals don't necessarily count. For the most part, they are considered evil."  
  
p"What exactly am I, then?"  
  
p"A Creator," Dumbledore said this, very proud indeed. Harry was confused by this, and Dumbledore let it sink in a moment before continuing. "A Creator isn't just an advanced Healer, Harry. With the proper training, you can turn anything against it's original maker, hence 'creating' a new bond; or, something of the sort."  
  
pHarry knit his brow, frowning more than he had been a moment before. "What do you mean, create a new bond?"  
  
p"If the situation occured where, say, Mr. Weasley had formed an aliance with Voldemort, and you somehow got your hands on Mr. Weasley, with just a few minutes of conversation, of touch, you could change his mind completely."  
  
pHarry chortled then looked down at the table, scratching the wood with his nails. "Aside from the fact that, you know, Mr. Weasley wouldn't do that, it sounds too much like a bloody fairy tale that I could just change someone by touching them."  
  
p"Ah, but Harry, don't we live in a fairy tale? Look around you. What you see isn't always what's there, and as you've seen with Tonks, there are more kinds of magic than you even know."  
  
pHarry looked up and saw Dumbledore smiling at him, but for the first time, the smile held all the emotions Dumbledore was truly feeling. He was in pain, all sorts of pain, and Harry suddenly felt bad.  
  
p"Where's the wereleopard that walked in with Lupin and Hagrid?" Harry asked, deciding to change the topic. It was sort of depressing.   
  
p"She is at the Ministry of Magic, on an errand for me."  
  
p"I thought she went to give information about the attack?"  
  
pDumbledore, if possible, looked more confused than Harry. "What exactly does the Ministry have to do with an attack on my grounds, Harry? No, Mr. Weasley took Niamh to the Ministry for me this morning, as I was busy with Lupin. By the way," Dumbledore smiled again, then winked. "I knew you'd be able to wake him."  
  
p"I haven't /i anything," Harry said with an exasperated sigh. "I put the cream on his wound last night, then touched him and he woke up. Coincidential, I suppose."  
  
p"Oh, no," Dumbledore began to grin at this, then leaned forward. "I didn't give you medical cream last night. No, I gave you some of Professor McGonagall's hand cream with some lemon-scented dishsoap from the kitchen. You did it all yourself, Harry, and I am quite proud of you. Because Remus had been attacked with silver, the wound itself wouldn't close, as it was too large. So you closed it for us."  
  
pHarry looked down at the table again and mulled what Dumbledore said over before pushing the conversation in a different direction. "You didn't tell me about my mother, exactly."  
  
p"Oh, yes, forgive me," Dumbledore stared deeply into Harry's eyes as Professor Snape stalked into the Hall, pulled a chair from the table and sat down, staring moodily at the tabletop with his arms folded across his chest. Harry imagined Dudley acting childish like that over the last bit of cake that had fallen to the ground. "I mentioned something about your mother's eyes. It seems to me that she had a bit of telepathy, though she hadn't even begun to realize it before her untimely departure. The colour of your eyes, as your mother's, is the sign of someone who bears telepathy."  
  
p"Once again, crazy," Harry muttered, shaking his head.  
  
p"No, it is quite true, and you must believe me," Dumbledore said, and the way he said it, with a sort of desperation, made Harry look up at him. "Harry, there is fewer time these days to be bickering about what is 'crazy' and what is not. I would never lie to you about these things."  
  
p"I know. It's just," Harry glanced at Snape, who seemed to be pouting, and couldn't help but feel better; someone was feeling worse than he was at the moment. "It's just fast."  
  
pDumbledore turned to Snape, feeling as though he had said enough to Harry, and smiled at the moody professor. "What has put you in such a sour mood, professor?"  
  
p"Bloody Lupin and bloody Malfoy," Snape said, then brushed his hair out of his eyes as he quickly sat up, glaring at Harry before ignoring him completely and staring at Dumbledore. "They are both on their way, as well as Tonk and Moody. She went to go sober Moody up a bit before we went to the Manor."  
  
p"Ah, so I take it Remus is fine?" Dumbledore asked with a relieved smile. "What is Mr. Malfoy doing to you?"  
  
p"The usual Lucius Malfoy stunt, of course," Snape's hands clenched on the table before sitting back and grabbing a clean mug and pouring hot chocolate from the pot on the table. "Refusing to talk unless he gets something out of it. No matter that his mother has disappeared, he'd rather sit in there with Weasley playing chess for hours on end. I finally had to bribe him to come down here so we can put together our party," Snape turned to Harry again and narrowed his eyes. "I see that you, Potter, have finally decided to stop moping about in the rain."  
  
pBefore Harry could open his mouth and tell the man that he better stop before Harry Creates a new bond for Snape's arse to meet, Dumbledore said, "I believe, then, that Harry will be going with you?"  
  
p"If you wish," Snape grumbled before sipping at the hot cocoa and wincing. "As for the rest of the Search Party, I don't think we need more than four. Lupin, Draco, Potter and myself."  
  
p"I think not, sir," Draco said from behind Harry, startling him. Harry didn't turn around; instead, he watched as Dumbledore conjured another chair was brought to the table and Draco sat down in between Snape and Dumbledore; Lupin sat next to Harry and smiled at him gently. Harry felt sick and lowered his eyes. "Malfoy Manor is too dangerous for non-Malfoy blood to go parading about, you know. Especially with the likes of Potter running around."  
  
p"And Lupin," Snape muttered.  
  
p"Right," Draco nodded, getting a cup of hot cocoa for himself. "The way I look at it, the more people we have around, the more of a threat we are to the Manor."  
  
p"And, uh," Harry rolled his eyes and finally looked up to face Draco, "why exactly do we need to threaten a house?"  
  
p"Because, Potter," Draco turned and glared at him. "It is one of the most dangerous haunted houses in the world. It's haunted by things that wouldn't normally be a threat to us here. Boggarts, for instance, can kill you in my home. There are rooms designed for torture that you will never get over. Not physical torture, either. Reliving your nightmares, for one. Tons of people in the past thousand years have died, lost their minds, and even disappeared in my Manor."  
  
p"So explain to us why you're still here," Lupin said, narrowing his eyes dangerously. Harry tried to hide his smirk; Lupin seemed just as irritated by this bout of 'my house is better than yours' as Harry was.  
  
p"It's dangerous to those who have no Malfoy blood. My mother was under my father's protection, therefore hadn't needed to be Malfoy blood. Now she's gone, and I'm the only Malfoy blood left. The house can't harm me, but I didn't want to take my chances."  
  
pEveryone was silent for a few minutes, taking it all in. Harry himself was confused. He had learned so much more about himself today than he ever wanted to hear, but suddenly, he was starting to get thrown into Malfoy's business and learning more about his enemy than he should've known.   
  
p"What we will do is put together a party of eight and perhaps mix some of your blood, Draco, with the other seven," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his wand in thought. "Yes. Harry, Draco, Severus, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Charlie and, " Dumbledore stopped and his eyes seemed to widen slightly. "Ms. Granger?"  
  
p"Hermione?" Harry asked, confused, then turned around and looked at where Dumbledore was staring. Lupin was on his feet with Dumbledore in a second, both striding over to Hermione.  
  
pMud streaked her clothes and face, causing her hair to clump. Her eyes seemed bloodshot, and she was gripping Harry's Firebolt in one hand, and his Invisibility Cloak with the other. She was hiccoughing, and seemed, if anything, worse than she had the day before. But something about the way she looked made Harry's throat tighten and his mind began racing, asking questions that neither Lupin nor Dumbledore seemed to think of.  
  
p"What happened?" Lupin had asked, and Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing came out except for a slow trickle of muddy water from the corner of her mouth.  
  
pDumbledore took out a hankerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood from her mouth. "I imagine you're cold, here, let me get you hot cocoa," he said and grabbed her elbow gently and led her to the table.   
  
pWhen she got there, the first thing that tumbled from Harry's mouth was: "Hermione, what happened to Ron? Where is he, and /i do you have my things?"  
  
pThis, apparently, brought Hermione's voice back, and in a flurry of words and new tears, she rapidly said: "Ron told me to go inside and we'd eat our lunch inside because it was going to rain and when we got inside we sat there and I got an image of what was going to happen and -" she cut herself off and got a glazed sort-of look. "Mr. Weasley and Voldemort walked into the kitchen, and Ron told me to go upstairs and hide. I waited for him for an hour, long after Voldemort left, and when I came downstairs in the Invisibility Cloak, Ron was..was.."  
  
pHarry's heart plummeted, and Lupin must've noticed Harry's reaction, because he grabbed his shoulder and steadied him in the chair, all while keeping his other hand on Hermione's upper arm. The world spun and Harry felt ill; Ron was dead. But he couldn't be! And Mr. Weasley hadn't gone to Voldemort's side.  
  
pBut what had Dumbledore said earlier? What if Mr. Weasley had formed an alliance with Voldemort? Did Dumbledore know?  
  
p"Ron was gone. He wasn't anywhere," Hermione said, and an instant later, Harry began to breathe a bit easier. "Mr. Weasley wasn't there either. But when I got outside, the entire yard was muddy and wet, and everything was broken: the tables, trees, the fence, everything. Bill wasn't there, but I saw Fred sitting against a tree stump, holding Ginny and they were crying. George was sitting with his mom on the other side of the yard. No one was dead, thankfully, but I don't know why Ron and Bill were gone."  
  
pOnce again, silence rang out through the Great Hall before Draco climbed to his feet and ran his hand through his hair. "I believe I'm going to go make out a map of the Manor."   
  
pDumbledore nodded. "That sounds like a good idea, Mr. Malfoy. Harry, could you go with him and inform the others of what has happened, and kindly bring Hermione to Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
pHarry did as he was told and rose from his chair, feeling numb. Ron and Bill were missing, and Mr. Weasley was, what, a Death Eater? It seemed all too unreal, and even when he pried his broomstick from Hermione's grasp and, for some reason, Malfoy had taken the Invisibility Cloak for Harry so that he could help his friend out of the room, Harry couldn't make sense of the situation.   
  
pIt seemed to him that his entire life was falling apart and rapidly changing for the worse.  
  
pAfter Harry, Hermione, and Draco had left the Hall, Dumbledore turned to Snape and Lupin, who were both standing shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for their jobs. "I am going to the Ministry to inform them of what has happened, then I will go to the Burrow to collect the other Weasleys. I need you two to find Tonks and Moody, and take Draco and Harry to the Manor."  
  
p"Forging the blood link, as well, sir?" Snape asked with a slight glance at Lupin, who was very pale indeed.   
  
p"Yes, but only enough to have a link at the Manor and nowhere else. Take it off immediately when you arrive back at Hogwarts. We don't need anymore problems occuring," Dumbledore said, and with that, he took off out of the Great Hall and disappeared around the bend.   
  
pSnape looked distastefully at Remus, who stared back with a confused expression. "What in the hell is going on, Severus?"  
  
p"It appears to me, Lupin, that the entire community is breaking apart. Potter was just informed of two magical capabilities he has been donned with the privelege of having."  
  
p"Poor kid," Remus said as they began walking to the dungeon to find the appropriate books to explain the proper way of going about making a blood link.  
  
pThey were silent for a while before Snape began to speak.  
  
p"I saw how you were looking at Potter during our little brief meeting."  
  
pRemus knit his eyebrows in confusion as the two stopped while Snape began unlocking the door to his office. "What do you mean?"  
  
p"I mean," Snape said, then shoved his door open and began pushing through the piled desks to his bookshelf behind his desk. "I used to see you look at Black like that. Like the lost puppy dog that you are."  
  
pRemus stood in the doorway, watching Snape move around the room and smiled faintly at what the man had just said to him. An image flashed through his mind of Sirius lying in his bed late one night, dead asleep with his arms thrown around Remus. Their legs were tangled and bodies were pressed against each other, both for warmth (the heater had broken during the afternoon) and for comfort. Remus couldn't remember what had happened that night that made them both so upset (maybe it was when James was in the Hospital Wing after he'd passed out during the Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor game earlier), but he remembered how comforted he'd felt like that.   
  
pJust as quickly as the image came, it left, and Remus shivered.   
  
p"Whatever happened to that girlfriend of yours?" Snape asked conversationally, plucking a book from the shelf and rifling through it before throwing it onto the floor and searching the other titles of books. "The one you had at graduation?"  
  
p"That was nearly twenty years ago. How do you still remember that?" Remus smirked and plopped down in the nearest desk and watched Snape glance over his shoulder and scowl.   
  
p"Answer the question."  
  
p"My personal business doesn't concern you, Severus."  
  
p"I want to know something about you, Lupin, as we will be forced to work with each other for the rest of our bloody lives," Snape said, then found a book and sat down in a desk across from Lupin's. He began flipping through the pages.  
  
p"Ah, so you're trying to be friendly. In that case, I'll answer you one question about me if you answer one about yourself," Lupin told Snape and began rubbing his hands together. "Deal?"  
  
p"Deal," Snape replied, marked the page he was reading by creasing the corner, then shut the book and stared at the werewolf curiously. It had been a long time since they'd had a civil conversation; in fact, he didn't think he'd ever been able to sit across from Lupin without getting angry.   
  
p"Then ask me."  
  
pSnape began to think, as did Lupin about the question he was going to ask, and a split second later, Snape raised his eyes. "Why haven't you married and have kids? You aren't horribly unattractive, and I'm sure there are women - or men, if you choose - who wouldn't mind a werewolf."  
  
p"Simple," Lupin said and leaned back, glad that Snape hadn't asked anything about Sirius or Harry. "Werewolves can't carry children. Changing is too violent and women can't carry to term, so if I wanted to have kids, women werewolves were out of the question."  
  
p"And human women?"  
  
p"Who'd want to marry a werewolf?"   
  
p"Lie to them, maybe?"  
  
p"We change during sex. I think she'd realize something wasn't right when I began changing."  
  
pSnape sat thinking a moment before smiling mischeviously. "That and the fact that you're gay, right?"  
  
pRemus was silent a moment, contemplating this question before he said: "ah, you already asked one question. My turn," Lupin narrowed his eyes in amusement. "Why haven't /i married and have kids?"  
  
pThe amused look on Snape's face dropped and his eyes grew dark. "Ask another question."  
  
p"Nope. It's a fair question because you asked me the same."  
  
p"Fine," Snape stood up and grabbed his book, "they were killed sixteen years ago," he said and began to stomp out of the room when Remus grabbed his elbow and stopped him.  
  
p"I'm sorry."  
  
pSnape looked down at the hand on his elbow before pulling his arm free. "Yeah, well, I don't need your sympathy. He killed my son and wife, and I got out of there before he killed me, too. Let's just go do this blood link crap and get to Malfor Manor before dusk, Lupin. I don't want to be there at night."  
  
pWith that, Snape billowed out of his classroom, and Lupin had no choice but to follow him back to the Hospital Wing where their search party was waiting for them, sober and grim. Guilt began to gnaw at Lupin's insides and he knew he had made a mistake bringing up Snape's family. How the hell was he to know that Voldemort had killed his family, anyway?   
  
pStanding in the Hospital Wing with his fellow Order members and ex-students, preparing everyone for the blood link, Remus realized how badly he missed James, Peter and Sirius. It was curious how he had managed so long without all three of them together, and now more than ever, he needed them there with him, helping him out once more.  
  
pMy computer got the new worm that's infected half a million computers. Apparently, it's planning an attack on the Microsoft Windows website. And where does that leave me? Without the ability to copy and paste the HTML codes I need to write my chapters. Nor can I print anything, so I can't continue chapter 8 while I wait for my computer to be magically fixed (as I have no idea how in the hell to fix it).  
  
pSo, what I'm saying, is that I might not be able to post soon. I'll try to get to the library tomorrow and Wednesday, then next Monday and Wednesday to finish writing. So maybe another week or so until I can post again.   
  
pNext chapter is the long-awaited trip to Malfoy Manor (..the actually story part is starting!)  
  
pAnd must I recommend the Wheel of Time series to those of you who are looking for good (real) fantasy books to start reading. The Eye of the World is the first book...great books..  
  
pTHANK YOU SO MUCH TO:  
  
pRonan of Bishonen, Amai, shiroiryu144, MG, Lady Lightning, Rayne-Jelly,Star06, Rachel 


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